


Alenahaella Moritanae

by Norstaera



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, DA2, Multi, Origins, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Relationship(s), non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 157
Words: 459,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norstaera/pseuds/Norstaera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alenahaella moritanae: Griffonsong for short. Full meaning in an ancient tongue 'Those who ride the wind, whose voices spell doom to the blighted wretches.' Alistair and newest recruit, Blake Cousland, barely survive Ostagar. On the way to Lothering they meet an unusual and mysterious young woman. Who is she and what does she know about the Grey Wardens? Mature content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where Have the Griffons Gone?

Blake and Alistair were trudging along on the way to Lothering. The cold and rainy weather fit their mood. Blake’s mabari, General Lee, was circling Morrigan several yards in the rear. She was not one for company, was Morrigan. Blake and Alistair were secretly amused at General’s attempts to befriend her. Mabari or Morrigan, which was more stubborn?

“Do you ever wonder what happened to the griffons? Did they just die out or did something happen to them?” Alistair broke the silence.

“That’s a strange question to ask out of the blue!” exclaimed Blake.

“Well, _I_ don’t want to talk about Duncan, and _you_ don’t want to talk about Highever. I understand that, I really do. I just thought it would be nice to talk about something completely different, no doom and gloom involved - lighten the mood.”

“You’re right, Alistair, we have been rather morose. Who knows, this conversation could even give us a better understanding of the Grey Wardens,” Blake raised an eyebrow and smiled, slightly.

“Oh, ha ha, you’re so funny. Seriously, though, I heard that they started dwindling after the last Blight and finally disappeared about 200 years ago. But was it through some sort of illness, a disaster, or even an attack? Nobody I know of has an explanation. How can a creature so important disappear and nobody have any idea why? Did your studies provide you with a clue?”

Blake considered for a moment. “We didn’t study the Grey Wardens in a lot of depth, Alistair. It is odd, I agree. Normally if something disappears, especially something important like the griffons, there would be some clues. It wasn’t that long ago, historically speaking. I remember reading of plagues wiping out a town, earthquakes and fires that could do the same, but I’ve never heard of one lasting 200 years. What did the other Wardens say? Did they have any theories?”

“Remember, I’ve only been a warden for six months. Nobody had much time to talk about anything except the Blight and strategy, even if they were so inclined. The ones I knew weren’t what I would call deep thinkers. Except Duncan and he definitely had other things on his mind.” Alistair grew quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he literally shook himself back to the moment. “I think they were targeted.”

“Targeted! Why do you think they were targeted?” Blake was sincerely curious now.

“Yes, Alistair, since you have finally decided to use your mind on something so totally irrelevant, please don’t keep us in suspense. I, for one, am ready to be dazzled by your brilliance,” Morrigan snidely remarked.

Alistair looked down at General Lee in reproach. _“Just couldn’t keep her back could you?”_ he thought. He could have sworn General Lee looked contrite. Looking at Morrigan he deadpanned, “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you decided to join in the conversation. Do you have any theories of your own or are you only limited to making fun of others?”

“ **Limited!?** Why you moronic – “

Blake intervened. “Stop it right now, you two. We’re going to be traveling together for some time and I am not going to play nursemaid because you act like five-year olds. Either enter a conversation with intelligence, or stay out of it Morrigan. And both of you stop baiting the other, you’re giving me a headache,” he said as he, without realizing it, rubbed his temples.

“Fine, you’re right. Morrigan, your mother has lived a long time. Did she ever tell you anything which might shed light on the issue?” She glared back at him, but finally shook her head.

Morrigan considered for a moment. “Maybe there was a major rockslide which destroyed access to the aeries. Not wanting to advertise such a disaster, the Wardens said nothing. And made sure that others who knew couldn’t talk. As long as they didn’t allow outsiders in, and in later years acting as if they were creatures out of legend, that is indeed what could happen. The false myth became myth in fact.” Morrigan shook her head, “and even that isn’t very satisfactory. This is pointless. We should be concentrating on where we are now and what we are going to do next.” Morrigan huffed and dropped back, effectively ending the conversation.

They continued onwards to Lothering in silence. Alistair’s gambit had partially worked, they could at least seize on the puzzle of the griffons to keep their thoughts away from their personal losses. Alistair broke the silence with a warning, “Darkspawn ahead.” They readied their weapons and cautiously moved around a curve in the road. What they saw halted them in their tracks. It wasn’t the darkspawn or their numbers; it was the sight of a small woman facing them down without armor, without boots, and without fear. She let out what Alistair described later as a directed screech which left the darkspawn reeling and in pain. Some even began bleeding from the ears. Then, incredibly quickly, she started slicing through them with her daggers, flying from one to the next, her actions galvanizing the Wardens into action.

When the skirmish was over, a very short time later, Alistair ran to the stranger and knelt down in front of her, “Are you hurt anywhere?” His eyes ran over her from top to bottom and front to back, looking for injuries. With the fighting over, he also couldn’t help noticing that she had a lot of curves and muscles tightly packed in a small but sturdy and amazingly sexy frame. He ignored the visions of filling his hands with those curves and the twitching in his groin while he waited for an answer. He watched her face as she in turn looked back at him, wariness and mystery in her unusual eyes. In fact, everything about her was unusual. Her hair fell, no that was too tame a word, climbed wildly down her back to her waist in a mass of unkempt curls. It held all the colors of leaves before falling to winter and was streaked with bands of pure white. She was slightly taller than a dwarf and shorter than many elves but she was definitely human. Her face was somewhat broad with prominent cheekbones. A slightly hawk-like nose sat above a wide mouth with full, sensuous lips. Her eyes were slightly larger and more widely spaced than usual. Half-closed with long lashes that hid their color. He couldn’t tell if they were green, brown, or hazel. He was fascinated by the faint sprinkling of freckles on her dusky gold skin. Beautiful was not an accurate word to describe that face. It was compelling, exotic, harsh even, and had a slumbering sexuality he found intoxicating.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low and husky, teasing his nerve endings. “No, Warden, I have no injuries,” she spoke as she looked back at the man in front of her. Her eyes went from the handsome blond warrior to the equally handsome dark man with the sharper features before taking in the curious mabari and the irritated witch. She searched the road behind them, as if trying to sense something. A look of distress crossed her features, making Blake and Alistair want to comfort her. “You are the only remaining Wardens?”

“How do you know that? Who are you?” Blake demanded as he grabbed her arm and held on to her for several minutes waiting for an answer, only to let go at her hiss of pain. They all stared in surprise at the burn on the woman’s skin where his leather glove had touched it. Alistair quickly grabbed a healing poultice and spread it over the burn, earning a smile of thanks which caused him to blush. He hadn’t blushed in years, not since he was first taken to the Chantry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Blake said once her arm was treated.

“You had no way of knowing that I am unable to bear leather, so there’s nothing to forgive,” the woman replied. “I am Jannasilane and I can, I guess you could say I can sense Grey Wardens. I can’t describe it better than that. I was on my way to Ostagar to meet my father and join the fight. I met many fleeing the battlefields and finally the darkspawn we just defeated. I suppose I will join with you now.”

Her phrasing was killing Alistair. Clearing his throat, he attempted to distract himself, “I am Alistair and this is Blake, our leader. General Lee is Blake’s mabari and our fellow traveler is Morrigan. Who is your father? Perhaps we know him.”

Blake was amused at Alistair’s predicament. He had already noted that the attractive blond was very attracted to their new acquaintance, he was not immune himself. He wondered if he would be as affected as his fellow Grey Warden if he didn’t prefer Alistair to Jannasilane. Morrigan was a non-starter. His amusement disappeared when Jannasilane answered.

“Duncan, he too was a Grey Warden.” The grief and pain that shouted at her out of Alistair’s hazel eyes hurt her. She put her hand to his face, “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I wish I had known him, he must have been a good man for you to care so much.”

Alistair stood and walked away. He kept his back to them for a few minutes as he struggled to control himself. “Yes, he was.” He strode back and stood next to her, looking into her upturned face, “I’m sorry you didn’t have a chance to know him.” Blake was standing on her other side, looking at him. “Let’s move on, shall we? We should probably reach Lothering before dark if we start now.” Jannasilane darted to the side of the road and retrieved a pack she had hidden. They moved on, with the Wardens flanking the newest member of their group. Between the two large men, Jannasilane keenly felt her lack of inches. Morrigan and General Lee trailed behind.


	2. Lothering at Last

They made better time than Alistair expected, their newest companion had no trouble keeping up with the two men. He kept looking down to see how she was faring and she never seemed to falter. The fact that he had a good view of her breasts wasn’t a factor at all, of course. Her slightly too-small dress had a number of interestingly placed tears, the result of battling in cloth instead of any sort of armor. If the neckline tore any further he’d be able to see all the way down to her toes. As it was he had fantasies of sliding his hand down between the two generous mounds and bringing them out to play. He certainly didn’t have the same reaction to Morrigan, and her breasts had even less covering. He could objectively admit that Morrigan was beautiful, and while not as generous as Jannasilane her breasts were rather magnificent. Too bad her beauty was marred because Morrigan was cold and a complete bitch. Jannasilane hadn’t said much, but she seemed to give off heat, promising a warmth at night that was very enticing.

Alistair fell back, he needed to think. Why did Jannasilane have such a strong effect on him? There were plenty of women he’d found attractive and fantasized about. Even back at Ostagar there were a couple of women, one a soldier by the name of Ser Cauthrien and the other a dark-haired elf, what was her name? He thought if there had been time and Loghain not a traitor he and Cauthrien might have gotten to know each other better. She at least appreciated his sense of humor, many didn’t. But she was almost fanatically loyal and, well, she wasn’t Jannasilane. Maker help him, but watching her from the rear wasn’t helping him much. Her strong haunches were full and well-rounded. A man could happily get lost in those curves. And the way they moved, they were just begging to be grabbed.

“She’s a sexy little package, isn’t she?” Blake interrupted Alistair’s musings. “I don’t think she’s even aware of it, she seems rather young.”

“ _Sexy little package?_ Isn’t that a bit, um, rude?” not that he disagreed, of course.

“Please, you’ve been watching her like she was the only drink of water for a hundred miles and you were dying of thirst. Anyway, she can’t hear us; it’s just you and me.” Blake thought for a moment, “I’ve known a lot of women, but none of them had the same punch she does. If it weren’t for the fact that her very presence seems to irritate Morrigan I’d be tempted to leave her behind, she’s a distraction we can ill afford.”

“No!” Alistair was forceful, and then tried to redeem himself, “she’s a terrific fighter. I’m not sure what she did to those darkspawn, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Blake smirked at the blond man, “I knew you liked her.”

Alistair narrowed his eyes at Blake; he hated it when the other man got all superior on him. “You don’t? I saw you watching her too. You seem pretty interested for somebody thinking of leaving her behind.”

Blake sighed, “Fine, I admit it. I would enjoy bedding her, don’t get me wrong. But she’s not really my type.”

“Not your type? You mean _Morrigan?_ ” just the thought of getting that close with the witch made Alistair ill.

“No, you’re a bit large but still a lot closer than either of the women.” Alistair looked at him with wide yet hooded eyes. Blake sighed, “You’re safe Alistair. I knew right away you didn’t play my way. I’m a gentleman and would never pay somebody, especially a friend, uncomfortable and unwanted attention. I’m only telling you so you know you have a clear field with Jannasilane as far as I’m concerned, and because at some point while we’re traveling you’re bound to notice something. If this makes you uncomfortable, let me know right now.”

Alistair was silent for a long time. “No,” he said slowly. “It’s alright; I know some men prefer the, um, companionship of other men. You’re right, I don’t really understand it, but you obviously respect other people’s boundaries so, no, I’m fine with it.” He couldn’t help muttering, “Makes more sense than Morrigan, anyway.”

Blake snickered and then let out a sigh of relief; he hadn’t realized how much he valued Alistair’s friendship and respect. He knew he tended to be sarcastic and brooding; the other man’s generally sunny nature and goofy humor centered him and simply made him feel better. “So,” he nudged the former templar, “go find out what sort of armor she can wear before that dress falls apart and we get too distracted. Just because I usually prefer men doesn’t mean I _can’t_ or _don’t_ enjoy women. On second thought, don’t go.”

Alistair punched him on the arm and went to talk to Jannasilane. “So, Jannasilane, what kinds of armor can you wear? Your dress, umm, well, it probably won’t last much longer.”

Jannasilane looked sideways up at the big blond. Alistair was looking in the distance and failing in his attempt not to blush. “You can call me Janna, or Lane if you prefer, Alistair.” Maker, he was aroused just by the way she said his name, _‘All-lee-stairrr’_.

“The only leather I can wear is dragon. I _can_ wear metal but I feel as if I can’t move like I need to, and I feel itchy. So, cloth. I’d like to experiment with layers and leather inserts, but I need coin. We were-” she stopped herself abruptly and continued differently, “Unfortunately my other clothes were lost. If I had needle and thread I could make some repairs.”

 _“We? Who is ‘we?’ I hope she’s not married. I’m not lusting after a married woman, am I?”_ He decided to ask, “Do you have any family somewhere?”

She tried to be stoic when she answered, “Not anymore. There’s just me.” She didn’t realize that instead she sounded lonely and sad.

“Hey,” Alistair put his hand on her shoulder, “You’re not alone Janna, you’re with us now.”

Jannasilane looked up into his warm hazel eyes, the corners crinkling with his smile and felt her stomach flip flop. _“Maybe this won’t be so bad,”_ she thought wistfully. She’d been drawn to Alistair from the start; there was a kindness and openness to his strong good looks that appealed to her more than the brooding quality of Blake. She had to admit that Blake epitomized the tall, dark and handsome man of stories. If Alistair wasn’t the Warden for her, then she could do worse than Blake. She was fortunate that her options were both young, good-looking and at least willing to be kind. Oh how she wished her mother was here to advise her. Maybe she and Alistair could at least form a friendship before . . . it. She smiled up at the big man, a smile that was surprisingly sweet and shy with her exotic features and Alistair felt a warmth inside that had nothing to do with lust.

They continued on side by side, Blake joining them after a while. They were near Lothering when they saw a group of people waiting on the highway leading to Lothering. Bandits.

“Well, look what we have here, more travelers. I bet this man with the dark hair is their leader.” The bandit leader looked at Jannasilane, his eyes full of lust, “and they travel with this desirable little thing, lucky men.” She almost imperceptibly edged closer to Alistair, wary and on edge, while Alistair tensed. The bandit continued, “The toll is ten silvers for the upkeep of the Imperial Highway, but I’m feeling in a good mood. If you don’t have the coin you can leave your little friend with us instead, a couple of nights sharing her ‘company’ should be fair.”

Alistair said, “No,” just as Blake replied that they weren’t paying. Foolishly the thugs attacked. The skirmish didn’t last long. After getting all the information possible out of them, the bandits lay dead around them. They started scavenging the area, coming across a dead knight who had obviously run afoul of the erstwhile toll collectors. They gathered some personal items to take to the Chantry in case somebody was searching for him. Alistair kept looking at Jannasilane to see how she was faring and Blake in turn eyed Alistair. General Lee didn’t watch anybody while he nosed for food and Morrigan glared at everybody in turn, more spite in her eyes when they landed on the young girl.

“If you didn’t look like a whore displaying your wares people would be less likely to get the wrong impression,” Morrigan finally spat out, “unless, of course, it isn’t the wrong impression.” Alistair and Blake were furious at her insult; their anger compounded by the sheer hypocrisy of her statement, considering her own lack of apparel. General Lee looked reproachfully at the witch.

Jannasilane didn’t bother looking at Morrigan. She continued her search as she almost absent-mindedly replied, “I’ll keep that in mind, Nipples.” Morrigan was speechless. The men bit their lips and looked in the distance in order not to burst out laughing and further infuriating the temperamental witch. Even the dog endeavored to hide his reaction. Finally Morrigan snorted, whether in grudging amusement or anticipated retaliation none could tell.

Once they had all they could find, they entered Lothering with Jannasilane and Morrigan as far away from each other as possible. It wasn’t long before Morrigan was making snide comments again, usually about Alistair. She also wasn’t impressed with their efforts to help the villagers with some of their problems. Alistair endeavored not to respond in kind, but it wasn’t easy. They even earned some coin doing odd jobs they found on the Chanter’s board.

Jannasilane was fascinated by the Chanter and the board. She kept going back to see if there were new tasks or to talk to the Chanter. She’d ask a question just so she could try to figure out the meaning of Chanter’s response. The little boy next to him as well as the Wardens was amused. Finally Blake had to ask, “Have you never seen a Chanter’s board before?”

“No. The village near my home was very small, Lothering is huge in comparison. But we’re not here for my education, or your amusement,” she admitted.

“Those are just bonuses,” Blake teased. “Let’s go.”


	3. They Expand

Loghain’s men lay dead on the floor of the tavern. Their actions confirmed what they had already heard: Loghain named them traitors and blamed them for the death of Cailan and the losses at Ostagar. The actions of a red-headed Chantry sister were unexpected. Leliana, for that was her name, announced she was joining them because she had a vision. It was a vision from the Maker telling her to help the Wardens. Morrigan didn’t trust her. In this she and Jannasilane were in agreement, which would have surprised the witch if she knew. Jannasilane’s family’s experience with the Chantry made her suspicious and she sensed this woman was no ordinary Chantry sister. Alistair quipped that they had enough crazy, causing Jannasilane to look up at him, wondering if he meant her but he was clearly referring to Morrigan. Blake overruled him, saying they needed all the help they could get. None of them noticed a weasely little man eyeing them from the loft.

Later they added a murderous Qunari to their group. Sten was a large, stoic man; a warrior of the Beresaad who would fight with the Grey Wardens against the Blight and hope to find his redemption. Even though he murdered a family of innocents, Jannasilane felt more comfortable with him than either of the other women, which wasn’t saying much.  As far as Sten was concerned, he preferred travelling with the smallest member of their group. She didn’t try to talk to him. He found that a refreshing change. He also liked walking with the dog. The dog he understood. These humans, he didn’t understand them at all.

With the village full they decided to camp outside Lothering and save coin. Just on the outskirts of the village they heard a cry for help. Darkspawn! Quickly they sprang into action and easily saved the merchant, Bodahn and his son Sandal. Alistair knelt down by the body of a woman. She was a mage. That gave him an idea and he started looking through her pack, “Janna, come here a minute.” She quietly walked over and knelt down next to him and looked at him, waiting. “Have you ever thought of wearing mage robes? A lot of times they’re enchanted for armor and defense. Maybe there’s something here you could use. I’ve even heard of some that were enchanted to fit the wearer, but I’ve never seen one of those.”

Jannasilane looked at him, considering, and then fingered the mage’s robe. “Thank you, Alistair, for thinking of me,” and she emptied the mage’s pack. She found a garment of vivid blue and held it up against her. Alistair’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard; it was not a big robe. In fact, it looked a lot like one of those Chasind robes except it was quilted cloth instead of leather and didn’t have the high neck. He was convinced the Maker sent her to torture him. “No leather, not even the belts. I’ll be right back,” and with her prize in hand she sprinted behind the ramp connecting the highway to Lothering.

Blake wandered over to where Alistair was kneeling next to the dead mage and looking off into the distance. “Problems, Alistair? Where’s Janna?” He looked amused.

Alistair groaned, “I think she’s changing her clothes.”

Blake’s eyes gleamed with interest, “Is she? Where?” he looked around and realized there was only one place she could be. He took a step in that direction but General Lee stopped him with a look of rebuke in his eye. Somehow the little minx had gotten _his_ dog to stand guard for her. He stepped back to Alistair, chuckling. “What on Thedas did she find?”

Alistair didn’t have to answer because Jannasilane returned just then. Blake whistled under his breath. He patted Alistair on the shoulder in sympathy even as he smiled at the unusual woman. Oh yeah, she was sexy. She also had an air of innocence and seemed to be unaware of her impact which just made her sexier as far as Blake was concerned. Alistair, interested and inexperienced, was in trouble. He quietly snickered to himself before he spoke to Jannasilane, “I see you found something else to wear. It suits you,” he couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice.

Jannasilane didn’t understand why he was amused and smiled back at him uncertainly. She looked from him to Alistair who was very red. “Is something wrong? Am I not wearing this correctly?” She twisted around to try and see herself from all angles.

Alistair tried not to gawk, but it was hard to see her moving like that and so close. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the length of leg exposed by the robe. It was quite low in the front, but the small robe was still better than the ripped up dress she was now carrying. “It, it looks fine. You look nice.” Mentally he hit himself on the head, _“Nice? I told her she looked **nice**?” _ She didn’t seem upset though, she actually smiled at him. “So, uh, how does it feel? Can you use it?” 

“Yes, I think so.” She looked at the woman and shifted uncomfortably. “Alistair, I, I would also like the robe she is wearing. I may be able to alter it to suit me. If this should start to tear . . .” her voice trailed off at the nearly identical expressions of the two Wardens. “Did I say something wrong?”

Blake recovered first from visions of the robe falling off Jannasilane. “No, no you’re right. She won’t be able to use it anymore, poor woman. We don’t have much coin, we probably won’t find a lot of merchants where we have to go and now that we’re fugitives we will have to be very careful. Do you need any help? We could just take all her things and you can look at them more carefully when we set up camp.” He briskly gathered up the woman’s belongings and put them back in her pack. With a delicacy which surprised Alistair he and Jannasilane began to remove the woman’s robe.

Once she folded the robe and added it to the pack she arranged the woman’s limbs as modestly as possible. She touched her fingers to the woman’s forehead and closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered to the dead, and stayed beside the body for a moment out of respect. Alistair waited patiently beside her. He liked that even though she felt it necessary to take the woman’s clothes she took the time to give her what respect she could. When she stood up he touched her shoulder and together they joined Blake and the others.


	4. Early Evening at Camp

They found two ponds fairly close together and decided to camp next to them. After they set up their tents, Alistair started some water for stew and Jannasilane went through the mage’s items more carefully. When she found soap and a hairbrush she bit her lip in excitement and looked longingly at the far pond partially hidden by some bushes. It had been days since she felt safe enough to bathe. That was a long time for somebody used to bathing every day. Seeing that everybody else was occupied in their own endeavors she decided now was as good a time as any. She grabbed the robe and her dress, thinking she might as well wash them while she had the chance. She slipped away, letting the others know where she was and prepared to indulge.

Alistair finished the preparations for stew and thought about taking a quick bath in the pond. Since leaving the Chantry he had deliberately not bathed as often as he was accustomed to; it was his own protest against the daily freezing baths all trainees were required to take. Cleanliness might be favored by the Maker but he never understood why the water had to be freezing. Some mornings he felt his private parts were shriveling to nothing. He had to wash a lot of pots and pans for asking that question, but at least that water was warm. Ever since meeting Jannasilane he had been more aware of himself and realized he needed to get clean. He could also admit to himself that he preferred being clean and that he was only hurting himself at this point. He gathered together his things and, as soon as he saw Jannasilane returning, hurried to the ponds.

Alistair scrubbed his skin and hair and his thoughts drifted towards the small woman who had recently been here. The thought of her wet and naked wouldn’t go away. He kept visualizing sucking on her nipples, sinking his hands into her rear, kissing and biting those lips. In his mind it was her hands all over his body, tangling in his hair, her slick body sliding against his. Images of her opening to him as he entered her kept him rock hard as he bathed. Finally, though he preferred not to after his years with the Chantry, he took himself in hand and quickly worked himself to release, moaning her name. _“And that’s probably as close as you’ll get if you don’t change some of your ways, Alistair,”_ he berated himself as he dressed in moderately clean clothes. “I should probably wash my clothes soon,” he grumbled, disgusted with the bad habits he had let himself get into.

Jannasilane was sitting near the fire when he returned, slowly working the tangles out of her hair. Blake and Leliana were sitting nearby. He quickly moved the stew closer to the center after giving it a good stir. Jannasilane looked over, “It smells wonderful, Alistair, I look forward to partaking.”

Blake laughed, “You must not have eaten in days; Alistair’s a lousy cook.” He caught a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks and noticed her hand clutching her hairbrush.

Alistair also noticed. His eyes widened and he moved to sit next to her. When she turned away from him he put his arm over her shoulders so she was leaning against him. He ducked his head to try and see her face, “hey, hey, it’s alright. When _did_ you last have something to eat?”

Jannasilane looked at him with wide eyes, the kindness in his voice snaking past her defenses, “A-almost a week.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” Leliana exclaimed, “What happened?” Blake drew closer and sat on the other side of her.

The obvious concern in her voice and Alistair’s expression loosened the grip she’d been keeping on her emotions. A tear slid down her face as she stared at the brush in her hands. When she started to tremble Alistair couldn’t help himself, he just picked her up and set her in his lap, surrounding her with his arms and stroked her hair. He had a brief moment to think how well she fit before she began speaking in broken sentences. “My parents, our home . . . there was a fire. They were trapped in the house. They . . . they were killed.”

“I am so very sorry. What a terrible thing to happen, I am glad you survived,” Leliana spoke quietly in a soothing voice.

Blake narrowed his eyes and asked the question he and Alistair were both thinking, “I thought you said _Duncan_ was your father.”

Jannasilane felt his suspicion and could feel Alistair drawing away mentally, though his hand kept stroking her hair. “Duncan, I am the child of his seed, yes. But he did not know me or I him. We were planning to go to Denerim when I turn seventeen in order to meet him. The man I call Father is the man with whom my mother wed and shared her life, the man who helped raise me and taught me. I am the child of his heart and he is the father of mine,” she lifted her head defiantly and stared at Blake, then Alistair. “I did not lie.”

“You’re sixteen?” Alistair asked quietly in some disbelief. _“I’m lusting after somebody who’s practically a child. I_ am _a drooling lecher.”_ He took a breath, “I’m sorry about what happened to your parents. When did this happen?”

“Two, maybe three weeks ago. The days are kind of muddled. I heard about the king’s army and the Blight, so I decided to go to Ostagar. There I . . . I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She stood up and walked away into the trees.

Alistair looked after her, wanting to comfort her and not knowing how. Blake looked at him, “let her go, Alistair. She needs at least a few minutes. When she comes back you can talk to her if she wants to talk. She’s pretty strong if she’s been on her own with little food for that long. It’s pretty amazing, really, I never would have guessed from the way she fought.” Blake waited until Alistair turned back to the stew, “nor would I have guessed she was only sixteen.” He smirked when the big blond groaned and he patted Alistair’s shoulder in commiseration. Sixteen certainly explained the air of innocence he detected earlier, Blake thought. She was probably a virgin too. Poor Alistair.

Jannasilane came back, her lashes wet but her face was dry. The others were already eating and Alistair handed her a small bowl, “you need to eat, and you should start slowly with small portions,” he said quietly. She nodded but just sat there for a few minutes looking into the fire. Finally Alistair spoke up, “umm, if you like I could brush your hair for you while you eat.” She still didn’t say anything so he decided to take that as a yes and found her brush and sat down behind her. He very carefully and very slowly worked the brush through her hair, patiently undoing any tangles he found. He tried to think of her as a child who needed comfort, but it was difficult. He could feel her relaxing and felt good when she started to eat.

Later, Jannasilane retrieved the clothes she’d left behind at the pond. The clothes were dry enough so she could examine them. She looked at Alistair shyly and gathered up her courage to speak to him again. “Alistair, if the long robe is enchanted will I do any harm by cutting it?”

“Umm,” Alistair stirred the remaining stew as he thought about getting a third helping, “not that I know of, but you should probably ask Morrigan, she would know more about that than I would.” He sympathized with her when she pouted, but couldn’t help thinking how kissable she was. “She’s coming this way, ask her.”

“Ask me what, pray tell?” Morrigan sighed dramatically and sneered at the lot of them.

Jannasilane stood so she could look up at the other woman without straining her neck and held up the robe. “This robe, I want to cut it to fit and was wondering if I would mess up any enchantments. Would you please take a look?”

Morrigan snatched the robe and rolled her eyes, “Very well.” She ran her hands over it and concentrated. “There are some nice resistances here, some armor and defense properties, but the active principles are all in the belted area. You can cut off the skirt, the sleeves, even the neck without damaging the enchantments. The worst that would happen if you cut into it elsewhere is that you’d only be left with the armor property which was woven into the cloth itself.” She handed the garment back to Jannasilane.

“Thank you, Morrigan, for your assistance,” Jannasilane replied. The witch just nodded regally. Behind her back Blake rolled his eyes mockingly. Morrigan brewed herself some tea, or something, and watched as Jannasilane quickly started cutting into the robe. “Why are you cutting before you even try it on?” she demanded.

Jannasilane looked up with amusement, “I am nowhere near as tall as you or the mage who owned this garment. I am cutting what I know I will want or need to cut and then I will try on this robe. I do not think tripping over the bottom will allow me to properly judge the fit.”

“You have a point,” the witch grudgingly admitted before returning to her own tent site.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Janna,” Alistair said quietly. Blake was amused to see the woman, no, girl blush at Alistair’s attention. “And,” Alistair added gallantly, “Since you don’t have a tent you can take mine.”

“No, I will not take your tent from you,” she replied with pride and fire in her eye.

“Janna . . .”

“No!”

“Well, you can at least use it to change, or whatever you need to do in privacy,” Alistair said in some exasperation.

Jannasilane nodded regally, “That I can do. I appreciate your kindness, Alistair.” She stood up with the robe and entered Alistair’s tent.

Blake joined Alistair by the fire. He smirked at the scowl on Alistair’s face, “nice try on getting her into your tent.” When Alistair glared at him he laughed, “I don’t know if I trust her, but I like her. She’s got a lot of spirit. And pride. I imagine that’s what has kept her going these past few weeks.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Alistair sighed. “I just don’t like the idea of her sleeping out alone, vulnerable. She’s practically a kid.” _“I need to keep reminding myself of that,”_ he thought.

“Alistair, she may be young, but she’s not a child. And she’s still a sexy little package whether you want to admit it or not.”

Whatever Alistair might have said in response was cut off when Jannasilane came back out of the tent. In addition to cutting off the bottom of the robe she’d cut off the sleeves and opened up the neckline a bit. Her breasts were completely covered to both Alistair’s relief and disappointment. The mage had been taller than but not as curvy as Jannasilane so the robe was a snug fit around her breasts and hips while a little loose in the waist. As a templar in training he’d had plenty of time to observe that the women’s robes all seemed to draw the eye to the shape of their breasts and the sway of their hips. This robe was no exception, the close fit accentuating these areas even more. When cutting the bottom, Jannasilane followed the pattern of the skirt, so it was below the knees at the sides but sloped to a higher point in front and back. Overall, while her curves were very much in evidence she managed to look taller and leaner and strangely elegant.

Blake thought so too. His mind full of masculine appreciation he approached the young woman. As he told Alistair, he might prefer men as a rule but he wouldn’t mind exploring the many curves of Jannasilane. None of these thoughts showed on his face when he spoke, “What do you think? Whether you meant to do it or not, I think it’s quite flattering. And the dark green looks very nice with your hair and eyes.” He was amused by her blush, _“Definitely a virgin. With her age and their combined inexperience I wonder if she and Alistair will ever get together. She seems to like him; Maker knows he’s infatuated with her. But if she’s playing us or hurts him . . .”_

“I think it will be fine. It moves better than I expected, but I need to test it out. Would you spar with me, Blake? Just long enough for me to decide whether I need to do more?” Jannasilane looked up at him and waited for an answer.

“I’d be happy to, but why not ask Alistair?”

Jannasilane thought how to explain herself, “You fight as a rogue with quickness and agility. Countering you will give me an idea of any changes I need to make in just a few minutes.” _“And I do not think I can fight Alistair. I do not wish to hurt him; he has been kind and . . . he has been kind,”_ she thought to herself, not ready to admit even to herself the strength of the pull she felt towards the big man with sun gold hair.

Alistair was watching them and stood up in horror when it looked like Blake was _attacking_ Jannasilane. She quickly countered and their movements were a blur of activity for the next few minutes. Alistair wasted no time moving to stop the fight only to find himself sidelined by both of them at the same time. He grunted when he hit the ground, Jannasilane sprawled on top of him. “Ali, Ali, are you hurt?” her hands were softly stroking his face and her voice was husky with suppressed emotion. “We should have told you, I just wanted to test the movement of the robe, we were not trying to hurt each other. Ali?”

He heard Blake chuckling and turned his head to see his friend grinning at him, and then back to the curvy woman on top of him. The concern in her eyes and voice was his undoing. Nobody had ever looked at him that way, with concern over whether he, Alistair, might be hurt. The feel of her hands on his face and the warmth of her body on top of him were too much. He didn’t even think. He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her mouth to his. His kiss was awkward at first, but when she responded he became surer of himself. He nipped her bottom lip and at her gasp slid his tongue into her mouth to dance with hers. She was hesitant and then joined him enthusiastically. It was only when he realized his hand was cupping and squeezing her rear did he come to his senses. Quickly he sat up, causing her to hang onto him rather than find herself flung to the ground. Carefully he set her aside. He gritted his teeth and ran his hand through his hair. He looked at her and gulped at the signs of awakened desire on her face and her lips swollen from his kisses. He took her hand in his and forced himself to look into her eyes, “I’m sorry, that was rude of me to grab you like that. You’re a beautiful young girl and deserve more respect and restraint than I just showed.”

Confusion and embarrassment chased themselves across her face before her emotions became unreadable. With an awkward attempt at dignity she nodded her head and stood up to go back into the tent, his tent. “How was it?” Blake asked the now brooding templar, amusement still evident in his voice. It was colored with wonder and sympathy when he added, “I don’t think I have ever seen two people ignite that quickly.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that she’s sixteen, practically a child, and I’m twenty-two. Maker, that was beyond anything I expected. And she’s probably vulnerable since her parents died recently.” Alistair buried his face in his hands in misery, “she’s going to come to her senses and realize I’m the randy old goat her parents warned her about and want nothing to do with me.”

Blake looked at Alistair. He wasn’t sure what to do or say; tentatively he put his arm around the other man’s shoulders in camaraderie and support. When he felt Alistair was calmer he began speaking slowly, “Alistair, first I want to remind you that you are a good man. But if you expect to be perfect at all times you are going to drive yourself around the bend. Second, I could easily say that right now you are also vulnerable because of Ostagar. Third, it may surprise you to know that many girls are married at fifteen or sixteen and would consider themselves lucky to be married to a handsome young guy such as yourself instead of their much older husbands. She’s young, but not a child and you insult both of you by thinking that way. Finally, you have feelings for her, and maybe they will burn out as quickly as they flared up, but _I_ think she also has feelings for you. I’ve had a number of lovers, male and female, since I was fourteen, and I didn’t experience that intensity with any of them. I actually envy you. Don’t throw away the possibility just because you think she’s too young for you. She’s been on the road alone for three weeks since her parents died a tragic death. She’s had to grow up faster than otherwise. Take it slow if you want, give yourselves time to actually get to know each other, but don’t close the door or one day you may regret it. Just think about what I said.” With one last pat on the shoulder he stood up and left Alistair alone with his thoughts.

Blake couldn’t help laughing at himself. _“Wouldn’t Fergus be amused at this situation? I’ve always taken my affairs fairly lightly and here I am giving advice to an inexperienced ex-templar. Add that I wouldn’t mind bedding both of them separately or together and you have the ingredients for one of those naughty Antivan comedies Mother tried to keep us from reading. Now we just need to add a jealous lover in the mix,”_ he thought wryly. He watched from a distance as Jannasilane came out of Alistair’s tent, now wearing the smaller Chasind style robe. She pointedly ignored Alistair and came to the fire and began cutting a little more off the bottom off the long robe. He walked over and sat next to her, watching her work, he wanted to get a better sense of her. She finished trimming the robe and put it aside to look at what was left of her dress. “Aren’t you going to finish the edges of the green robe?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

He picked up the robe and got out the needles and thread they purchased in Lothering. “See where the threads are loose where you cut the fabric?” She nodded her head. “If you don’t do something with the edge, they will start to unravel and make it easier to tear. Watch,” he threaded the needle and began working on the robe, “if you stitch the edges like this, they will be stronger and look neater. You try it.” He gave the robe back to her and watched her begin, “no, not quite like that. Here, and then loop and pull,” his arms were around her as he guided her hands to correct her stitching. “That’s it. Keep it steady, once you get used to it you’ll find yourself going a lot faster.” He dropped his hands to the ground behind him and leaned back 

“How very . . . domestic of you, Warden,” Morrigan sneered.

Alistair joined them in time to hear Blake’s answer, “Yes, I’ll make somebody a wonderful wife one day.” He clasped his hands to his heart and batted his eyelashes, “It’s my hope and dream to find that special someone. Oh Morrigan, Morrigan, make my dreams come true, be the man to take me away from all this!” By this time he was on his knees, one hand reaching towards the witch entreating her to join him. 

Morrigan was fuming. “And I thought he,” pointing to Alistair, “was the idiot. I did not realize this was a requirement for being a Warden.” She stalked off.

Jannasilane was laughing so hard her breasts were practically shaking out of her robe, causing Alistair to swallow hard even as he was smiling. Leliana was giggling musically and Blake pretended to be heartbroken and looking down at the ground. Sten was looking at them all in displeasure and went to talk to General Lee, the only intelligent being among them. “Blake, it is very unusual for a soldier to be so familiar with sewing, though most can do very basic repairs. How did you become so knowledgeable?” Leliana asked when they were all calmer. Alistair was sitting across the fire from Jannasilane so he could watch without being too obvious.

“My mother. About three years ago I took a bad fall and broke my left arm and leg. I was used to being very active and you can imagine that at eighteen and suddenly finding myself completely unable to get around was worse than the actual pain. The healer fixed the breaks, but said I needed at least six weeks before I should start moving around and training again or I might do more damage. Poor Mother was at her wit’s end when she decided I should learn needlework. Elissa, my baby sister,” he paused and took a deep breath before he could continue, “didn’t like to practice so Mother put us both together. She said that when I was on the road I couldn’t count on having a servant to do any mending for me and as far as she was concerned it was a necessity for every soldier to know the basics. I think she had Elissa practice with me just to make sure she was practicing but I was surprised to find it relaxing. And it kept my fingers nimble, which is important for a rogue.” He laughed in memory, his face lighting up and for a moment he looked young and carefree. “I was getting good enough to make Elissa work harder. She was very competitive, my baby sister. No way was she going to let a _boy_ be better at something she was supposed to know. It was okay for her to be better at fighting than many, though.” He went silent as he remembered the last time he saw Elissa, her torn nightgown and . . .

Jannasilane was wistful when she began speaking, “I always wanted brothers and sisters, but it never happened. My mother taught me much about her potions, and was planning to teach me more skills with needle and thread while we traveled to Denerim. There never seemed to be enough time on the farm. I think she would have agreed with your mother, Blake, that all should be skilled enough to make repairs. Thank you for showing me.”

Blake looked at her; “maybe I’ll pretend you’re my little sister” he said with a smile and brought a mug of water to his lips.

Jannasilane ducked her head so he wouldn’t see the wicked mischief in her eyes. Very quietly, so only he would hear, she asked quizzically, “You thought of your sister as a ‘sexy little package?’” She was rewarded when water spewed out of his mouth and he started coughing violently. Calmly she pounded him on the back, “you should be more careful. Are you alright, do you need anything?”

When he finished coughing he looked into Jannasilane’s eyes and saw mischief mixed with intelligence and kindness. “I think you might be more like her than I thought. I can’t believe you heard that.”

“I have very good hearing and on the road I am more alert. I do not pry, but I could not help what I heard. I moved farther ahead to give you privacy.” She answered his unspoken question, “Here in camp I can relax and concentrate on other things, I do not hear so much. I know you spoke to Ali earlier,” and that was the only reference she was going to make to what happened, “but I do not know what was said. Nor did I try.” She sat back down and picked up the robe and began stitching again. Blake could only think that being a Warden was very interesting so far and wondered what other surprises lay in store.


	5. Nightmares Anyone?

Blake took the first watch. He and Alistair agreed that until they knew their traveling companions better they would guard the camp at night, without relief from the others. Morrigan had set up wards around her tent, which was some distance from the others. She assured him they would last well past the dawn, so that was one less worry. In Lothering he and Alistair had picked up or scavenged some basic clothing they could wear in camp, at least sometimes, so their armor could air out. Leather could start to smell after a while if worn constantly. Alistair picked through the shirts and gave the smallest one to Jannasilane so she would have something more comfortable to sleep in. Blake was amused at how regally she thanked the templar, _“still a bit miffed with him, I see.”_ She changed in Alistair’s tent once again and Blake thought how adorable and sexy she looked in the oversized garment. The sleeves were too long and it hung below her knees, but was loose enough to be comfortable. Blake quickly tacked the sleeves for her, “Good night, Package,” he said when she settled down in front of the fire and rested her head on her pack.

 

For the first time in weeks Jannasilane felt safe enough to relax enough for sleep. She’d had to make do with quick naps and short rests and she was so tired. Staring into the flames she thought of how they reminded her of Alistair’s hair and smiled sleepily to herself. He really was handsome, and when he kissed her . . . she could still feel his lips on hers and his hands squeezing her bottom.  On those pleasant thoughts she drifted into sleep.

_Jannasilane was excited; Alistair was joining them for dinner. Her mother had prepared something special and her father was watching indulgently as Jannasilane decided what to wear. Of all the young Wardens in Denerim, Alistair was the nicest as far as she was concerned. And he seemed to like her, too. . . . The scene shifted, dinner was over and her father was drawing Alistair out, taking his measure. The flames from the fire cast a warm glow on his face. She could see her mother approved . . . Fire! They set the house on fire! Wasn’t it enough to hurt them, she heard what they did to her mother. She heard her mother telling her she had to run, she had to save herself but everywhere she turned flames attacked her. Hands reached out for her, she kept tripping over the dead bodies of her parents . . ._ Blake was on the other side of camp when Jannasilane started to thrash. He made his way to her but Alistair, who’d quickly thrown on some britches, was already out of his tent and by her side. He took her into his arms before she could roll into the fire. He soothed her until she was relaxed again. She didn’t even wake when he laid her back down and stroked her hair before returning to his tent.

 

It wasn’t long before the nightmares started up again. This time when Alistair came out to soothe her, Blake spoke to him. “Alistair, just take her into your tent. You’re not going to get any rest at all if you come out every time she has a bad dream.” Blake admitted to himself he enjoyed looking at the other man in his dishabille, shirtless, loose cotton britches pulled on but not fastened, those well-developed muscles with the chest hair a darker gold than the hair on his head and the way the hair seemed to arrow to his groin. He sighed in resignation before answering the questioning look in Alistair’s eyes, “She obviously feels close enough to you to be comforted by your presence even when she’s asleep. If she has a problem in the morning we can deal with it then. You’re attracted, but you’re not a lecher or a rapist. Just go, already.” Alistair slowly nodded in agreement and carefully stood up with Jannasilane in his arms. As the templar walked away Blake noted that the man’s back was almost as good as his front. With some regret he returned to his watch.

_“Poor thing probably hasn’t slept much more than she’s eaten,”_ Alistair thought as he laid her down on his bedroll. _“Not how I hoped to see her here one day,”_ he smiled wryly as he lay down next to her and tentatively wrapped his arms around her as if she were some sort of explosive. He relaxed when she didn’t wake up. Since she couldn’t stop him he indulged himself by kissing the top of her head and nuzzling. He dropped off to sleep amazingly quickly.

 

Blake was surprised when Alistair didn’t come out for his turn at watch. He smiled to himself as he thought of possible reasons even though they were unlikely. He poked his head in Alistair’s tent. There was the warrior spooning Package, as he now thought of Jannasilane; he was holding her snugly against him, her rear where Blake was willing to bet was a nice erection and her head pillowed on Alistair’s arm. One of Alistair’s hands rested on her thigh where her shirt had ridden up and the other appeared to be cupping one of her very lovely full breasts. Judging from the way her nipple peaked, her body even in sleep responded to his. Blake looked at his friend’s face, it looked so peaceful and free of worry; he’d never seen Alistair so relaxed. He regretted that he had to wake him up. He crawled in so he could whisper in Alistair’s ear and gently shake his shoulder, “Alistair, time to wake up my friend, it’s your turn at watch.”

 

Alistair came awake instantly. He blushed when he realized where his hands were and that his manhood, nestled against Jannasilane’s backside, was standing hard. Not wanting Blake to see, he whispered, “Sorry, I’ll be out in a minute,” and waited until Blake crawled out of the tent before moving. It didn’t help when, as he tried to move away from her, she snuggled against him, the friction causing him to swell further. His eyes crossed but he disentangled himself, catching his breath when she rolled onto her back where he had been but she didn’t wake. He took a moment to look at her sprawled there almost in invitation, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, one knee cocked so her legs were bared, her lips soft and inviting.

 

He carefully put on his splintmail, wincing as he tucked himself away, and then, before gathering his sword and shield, he leaned over and gently kissed her. He felt her smile against his mouth and murmur a breathy ‘Alistair’ before settling back into slumber. He eased out of his tent and walked over to Blake, “Sorry, I haven’t slept like that in months.”

 

Blake looked closely at him; sure enough Alistair looked more refreshed than he could recall seeing him. “No problem, Alistair,” he replied. But he couldn’t help teasing the other man, “You two looked _very_ comfortable snuggled together. Any problems with your armor?” Alistair glared at him, but his blush told Blake he was right. “Maybe she’s a living sleeping charm and you’ll have to sleep with her every night in order get a good night’s rest.”

 

Alistair snorted. “I doubt that would be a hardship,” he began then glared at Blake’s smirk, “and that is _so_ not what I meant. Anyway, you obviously need sleep if you’re coming up with such whacky theories.” Blake just sauntered off to his tent where sleep beckoned.

 

Much as he wanted to just let it drop, he took the time to place his armor so it could air out some more and loosely pulled on some light britches then crawled into his roll. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep after that. He smiled to himself as he thought of Alistair and Package.  He would have loved to stay there with the two of them, Alistair in the middle. Actually, it would have been nice no matter who was in the middle. He imagined all sorts of scenarios with the three of them before he drifted off, a smile on his face and his hand lazily stroking his manhood.

_A sound, an unpleasant murmuring intruded on his fantasies. It grew louder and he put his hands over his ears but that didn’t help. It was inside his head! His head was itching from the inside; the murmur became increasingly more threatening. He swore he could smell darkspawn but there were none he could see. He kept turning, trying to see them but he only saw shadows out of the corner of his eye. Why wouldn’t the bastards keep still for a minute? He grabbed for his weapon and-_ Blake sat up, breathing heavily, drenched in sweat. He heard Alistair softly calling his name from outside his tent. He rubbed his hands over his face before sticking his head out.

 

Alistair winced in sympathy at the haunted look on Blake’s face. “Bad dreams?” he asked already knowing the answer. Blake just nodded heavily. “I’m sorry, we should have warned you. It’s part of the Grey Warden package. Some can apparently block it out, but I don’t know how they do it.”

 

Blake looked at him, “any other unpleasant surprises?”

 

“Not that I know of, I’m sure there are some things you don’t know but early death and bad dreams are the biggies. The water is probably cold now, but you might like a quick dip in the pond.”

 

Blake thought about it. “That could be refreshing. Even if I don’t go back to sleep I’m sure I’ll feel better.” He grabbed a shirt and towel and strolled off. He paused as a thought struck him and looked back, “Alistair, you said you slept better than you have in months. Did you have any dreams while Jannasilane was with you?”

 

Alistair looked startled and then answered slowly, “No, no I don’t think I did. There have been other nights where I don’t remember dreaming, though. Hmmm.”As he kept watch he wondered if there was a connection. On one hand, he wouldn’t mind sleeping with her every night if it meant no dreams. On the other hand waking up every day with a frustrated erection would not be fun. And it would be incredibly selfish of him to use her for sex and sleep. He wouldn’t do it. Of course, this might all be moot if when she woke up she was angry with them for moving her.

 

Dawn was just breaking when Jannasilane started to wake. She stretched luxuriously and slowly blinked her eyes open and saw the roof of the tent. Roof of the tent? She sat up quickly and looked around. She was in a tent, Alistair’s tent. She narrowed her eyes and stormed out. There they were, the two Wardens, standing by the fire.

 

“Watch out, sexy storm coming our way,” Blake muttered to Alistair. He had to hide his amusement when Alistair turned around and immediately focused on her breasts. Her shirt had become unfastened while she slept and in her anger she hadn’t noticed. Luckily nobody else was up, or at least not around, to see her breasts bobbing in and out of sight.

 

She stopped in front of Alistair and looked up at him, arms akimbo. Both men could look down and see her breasts in all their magnificence. “Why was I in your tent?” she demanded.

 

“Uh, s-sleeping,” Alistair stuttered, transfixed by the sight allowed him by her gaping shirt.

 

“What are you looking at? I’m talking to you,” she hissed.

 

Blake barely had a moment to think, _“Don’t say it, Alistair,”_ before Alistair answered.

 

“Your breasts.” Alistair flushed in mortification even as Jannasilane looked down and turned bright red in fury and embarrassment. _“Maybe Morrigan is right and I am an idiot.”_ Not wanting to conduct this conversation in front of other people he panicked. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder and ran for the other side of the ponds.

 

Blake followed at a slower pace due to laughing so hard. He did manage to command General Lee to watch the camp and keep others from following. He didn’t go after them just for his own amusement; he was legitimately concerned about what might happen. When he caught up to them Alistair had set Jannasilane down in front of him and he was kneeling so they were face to face. He had a good grip on her upper arms so she couldn’t wiggle away. Blake wondered if he realized he was keeping her from closing her nightshirt. He decided not to say anything. This was better than any play or book.

 

“I didn’t mean to say that. And I didn’t mean to stare at your breasts,” Alistair cursed himself for being stupid. He had wanted to calmly explain why she was in his tent and here he was instead talking about her breasts.

 

“Why? What’s wrong with them?” Jannasilane didn’t know why she felt insulted, much less why she said anything at all. She’d felt off balance ever since he kissed her and then put her aside. She didn’t understand how she could crave his touch after such a short time, or even what she really craved.

 

Alistair stared at her. One of them was crazy and now he wasn’t sure who. “Nothing is wrong with them. They are more beautiful than I ever imagined and I want nothing more than to kiss them, lick them, and suck on them, every glorious inch.” He was appalled, the words pouring out of his mouth came straight from his cock instead of his brain and he didn’t know how to stop them. “I’ve never in my life felt anything as good as when I kissed you yesterday. I wanted to kiss you until we went down in flames. I only stopped when I realized I was grabbing your ass, your sexy, full, curvy ass. I’ve wanted to grab you from the moment I saw you and bury myself in all your curves.” Finally he took a deep breath so he could get his brain ahead of his mouth.  “But you are not some whore in a brothel and I was taught to respect women. I’ve never been with a woman before. I don’t want my first time to . . . to just satisfy an itch no matter how big an itch it is,” he continued quietly. “I want to at least know the woman more than we know each other now. I want to know we have some common ground, be friends, not an anonymous encounter. And you’re only sixteen; you have a lot of time to find more than I can offer.” He removed his hands from her arms and sat back, his breathing shaky.

 

Jannasilane’s own breathing was shaky after Alistair’s confession. She slowly refastened her shirt as she thought of what to say. “I do not know that I am capable of your ‘storybook romance.’ I do not believe that is in my future, so it is not something you can cheat me out of. When I met you, I was struck by your kindness, not just how handsome you are. You comforted me and I felt safe in your arms. When you kissed me, I didn’t know how to respond but I didn’t want you to stop. I felt insulted when you apologized.” She licked her lips and cleared her throat, “when you were talking just now, I didn’t understand everything you were saying but I wanted it. You obviously know more about such things than I, but I too would like my first time to be with a friend. Maybe with you, but you’re right when you say we don’t know each other that well. I admit I’m confused.” Then she smiled mischievously, “I won’t be sixteen for long. In five weeks I am seventeen.”

 

“I feel less like a drooling lecher now,” Alistair replied drily. She just snickered. They both seemed to have forgotten about Blake. “Look, about last night, you were having nightmares. I came out once and held you until you calmed down. They started up again and when I came out Blake suggested I just bring you into my tent so we could both get some sleep. I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t like having you with me, but nothing happened. I promise.”

 

“I know. And I feel stupid for yelling at you. I remember now, I was dreaming about my parents and the fire.” She looked so sad Alistair just wanted to comfort her and make her pain go away. He held out his hand and was relieved when she took it. “What will you do if I have more nightmares?”

 

“I don’t think it’s even possible for me to leave you alone. I will at least ask if you want to sleep in my tent. Otherwise I’ll just stay with you,” Alistair answered. Then he grinned, “And right now I give you permission to join me in my tent to hold me if I’m having nightmares.” He stood up and she lightly punched his arm with her other hand, but didn’t let go of him. For the moment, at least, they were on steady ground.

 

Together they turned to go back to camp and saw Blake standing there watching. It was hard to say which of them turned redder at realizing he had heard every word they said to each other. Blake just smiled sunnily. “I wanted to make sure neither of you killed each other, but all this unfulfilled lust in the air made me positively weak in the knees. If either of you want advice, I’m available.” He leered playfully, “and if either of you want a little practice I’ll be glad to help out in any way.” Alistair shut his eyes and groaned, while Jannasilane’s mouth dropped open at the thought of the two Wardens doing non-Wardeny things. Blake walked over and gently closed her mouth before bending down to gently kiss her, “Ah Package, you have a lot to learn.” He sauntered off ahead of them, glee in every stride.

 

Alistair lit on what he felt was the safest part of Blake’s statement. “Why does he call you Package?”

 

Jannasilane peered up at him sideways through her thick lashes, “I have very good hearing, Alistair.” That was all she would say about it no matter how he tried to tease it out of her.

 

They were back at camp when he finally realized what she meant, “Oh Maker!”


	6. More Nightmares

Too bad none of them noticed the man in Dane’s Refuge because he was one of Howe’s spies. He quickly made his way to Denerim and reported to Howe. Howe paid him and then dismissed him. _“Damn those Couslands! The blasted Warden must have somehow spirited away that miserable pup. Just my luck that first he didn’t die at Highever with his pathetic parents and sister and then didn’t die at Ostagar with the rest of the damned Wardens.”_ Renden Howe didn’t waste time brooding. He was well on his way to having everything he wanted, what he deserved, and he simply needed to figure out the best way to deal with what was, after all, a minor obstacle. He poured himself a glass of brandy and contemplated the golden liquid before taking a sip. He did so enjoy good Antivan brandy, it was one of the more innocent pleasures he allowed himself. He was about to take a sip when he stopped and he started laughing, _“Of course, Antiva. The Crows can deal with this impediment. They’ve certainly been useful in the past.”_

 

After they broke camp Alistair asked where they were going first. After talking to Ser Donall about Arl Eamon and Ser Bryant about trouble with the Circle he thought they would be going to one of those places. Blake had a different idea, “Denerim. We need more coin, more information, and possibly more equipment. We’ll cut through the northern edge of the Brecelian Forest and look for the Dalish there on the way.”

 

“What about Arl Eamon, or the Circle, shouldn’t they be priority?” Alistair protested. Morrigan smirked at the expression on Blake’s face.

 

“No, we’re going to Denerim,” Blake lifted one eyebrow as he looked at his friend, “when we get there you can lead us to lunch.” Alistair flushed but didn’t say anymore. They set out and avoided the road. Alistair walked along the side of the group and Blake was a bit ahead.

 

Jannasilane caught up to Blake and stayed beside him. Finally she spoke up rather timidly, “Blake, are you angry with Alistair? For asking a question?”

 

Blake looked down into her face and bit back the sarcastic reply he was about to make. “No, Package, I’m not angry because he asked a question, it’s that he questioned my decision and did so in front of everybody. It’s about respecting my leadership, Alistair didn’t want to lead, didn’t feel ready; he was never trained to lead or take responsibility other than following orders. I’m hoping he has it in him because he’s a good person and I will need a second-in-command I can trust if we ever get this army gathered. I was to be in charge of the Teyrnir while Fergus and Dad,” he paused a moment, “while Fergus and Dad were at Ostagar with the king. My father taught us that you don’t allow anyone to undermine your authority by questioning your orders or decisions. If he had come to me privately beforehand and voiced his concerns or made his suggestions I would have listened. Would I have changed my mind? I don’t know. A leader has to be respected in order to be effective, not well-liked. I prefer to be both, but,” he shrugged.

 

They walked along in silence for a bit. Finally Blake huffed, “I can hear you thinking, Package. You’re right, I handled it poorly. I’ll talk to him.”

 

Jannasilane peered up at him sideways, “My mother never liked it when I questioned her either.”

 

“Are you saying I remind you of your _mother,_ brat?” Blake teased her in mock anger. “You’ll have to pay for that remark.” He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder and began spinning around in a circle, “Elissa always pretended to hate it when I did this,” he yelled. Jannasilane was pounding on him and General Lee began bouncing around them and barking. Blake stopped spinning and called out, “Alistair!” As soon as the templar looked up Blake tossed her, “Catch.”

 

Alistair had quick reflexes and he plucked Jannasilane out of the air and held her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck to hold on while she steadied herself. Alistair didn’t complain. He couldn’t talk while his face was so close to her cleavage, his brain just shut off. Jannasilane relaxed her hold and narrowed her eyes at the Warden, “I am **not** a play toy,” she told him through gritted teeth.

 

Alistair chuckled. He couldn’t help it, she looked so adorable glaring at Blake, “I don’t know,” he whispered in her ear, “you could be my play toy.” Surprised she looked at him. The rumble of his voice caused a shiver to course through her. Her answer was to move her hand to his ear lobe and give it a quick twist. He let her down, grumbling, “Ow, that hurt.”

 

By this time Blake had joined them. Jannasilane glared at both of them as they struggled manfully to control their amusement while she regained her balance. She stalked ahead of them, leaving the two of them smiling at her less than straight path. After a moment awkwardness settled between the two men as they trudged forward. Jannasilane smiled to herself when she heard them talking quietly. At the end of day only Morrigan was in bad humor.

 

For two days they were able to move quickly and uneventfully. The third was wet and cold. Blake was exhausted; Morrigan’s snide comments were getting to him. All day long she’d been arguing with one person or another. Even Sten, one of the most stoic people he’d ever met, looked ready to skin the witch and roast her over the fire. He quickly stripped off his leathers and crawled naked into his bedroll. Soon he was asleep. _They were at dinner. Fergus had already left and he and Dairren were playing an old game, seeing how much they could tease each other under the table while conversing with their various table companions. That Renden Howe would be extremely disgusted by such behavior between two men just made it more fun as far as he was concerned. He didn’t understand why Father liked the man; fortunately none of his children were like him. At one point he nearly lost it when Dairren’s foot was rubbing his thigh and Lady Leandra’s hand was massaging his groin. She certainly got ‘flirty’ when she drank. Dairren flashed him a wicked grin, he’d put up with his mother’s advances to his friends for years. Bann Loren was not fond of his wife and the poor woman was criminally lonely and desperate for basic human contact._

_Once he got his mother settled for the night Dairren joined him in his room. For a while the two talked. They enjoyed the occasional sexual encounter but mostly they were just good friends. Dairren was surprisingly hairy, he always looked so clean-shaven you’d expect his chest to be smooth as well but instead he was hairier than normal. Blake usually preferred wiry men with smooth chests but something about Dairren’s sturdy build and crinkly, thick chest hair always tantalized him. Almost casually they undressed and continued talking as they slipped into bed. Conversation stopped when Blake slammed his mouth over the redhead’s, all that teasing at dinner from the other man and his mother had him ready to go at the first touch of skin._

_Dairren was primed as well, he bit Blake’s lower lip before bringing it into his mouth and sucking on it hard. His hands were roughly stroking the rogue’s back and digging into his ass. Blake’s fingers were busily twining themselves in Dairren’s chest hair before he moved down to bring the other man into his mouth. His practiced motions quickly worked to bring Dairren to the brink and then he stopped. He reached over him so they were rubbing against each other and opened the nightstand drawer and brought out a vial of oil. Blake kissed him and handed him the vial, tacitly letting Dairren know he was now in charge. Dairren grinned and rolled Blake over before covering him with his body. Blake enjoyed the feel of Dairren’s hairy chest rubbing against his back._

_Dairren quickly oiled himself up then primed Blake’s entrance. He loved seeing the confident rogue reacting to him. He positioned Blake the way he wanted him and teased him with just his tip while he reached around and grabbed the other’s member and started squeezing and massaging, setting the pace he wanted before he started slowly pushing forward into the other man. Blake usually preferred being the one in control, but every now and then he really enjoyed letting somebody else be in charge. He was breathing harshly when he thrust backward so that he was completely filled. Dairren worked at controlling himself, but feeling so tightly surrounded made it hard. He held Blake still until he was ready to begin thrusting again, then he grabbed the other man’s hips so he could control the pacing. Blake clenched his muscles in response and Dairren groaned. He began moving faster and faster until he spilled. He remained inside and once more reached around and this time grabbed Blake’s erection with both hands until he also spilled his release. Panting, Blake reached for some damp cloths he had ready and they cleaned up as best they could while staying connected. Dairren pulled Blake to him, spooning him, and they talked for awhile before drifting off to sleep._

_A few hours later General Lee’s growling woke them up. Blake went to him, “What is it, boy?” Dairren opened the door before Blake could stop him and was cut down where he stood. General Lee leapt forward to attack and Blake leapt backward to retrieve his daggers. As soon as the immediate threat was dealt with he knelt by Dairren, “I’m so sorry, my friend,” he whispered before quickly pulling on his leathers. He met his mother in the hallway and together they checked on Oren and Oriana. “Maker’s breath,” Blake swore upon seeing their lifeless bodies. He ran to Elissa’s room but she wasn’t there. He and his mother had to fight their way through the castle. Blake never admired his mother’s strength and courage more than he did as they fought for their lives against Howe’s men. Seeing little Oren nearly broke her, but it was Elissa’s body which finally caused her to cry. Blake nearly cried as well, his baby sister must have gone to the study to read, something she frequently did, and Howe’s men found her there. She had a gag in her mouth and it was more than her virgin’s blood pooled between her thighs._

_Now he and his mother weren’t fighting Howe’s men, they were battling darkspawn in the castle, their scritching whispers invading his head. Some of them had Howe’s sneering face. Darkness, darkspawn, Howe, and death took over his subconscious. He kept fighting but it was becoming harder and harder. The darkspawn were winning the battle._

 

Jannasilane was staring into the flames when she heard thrashing coming from Blake’s tent. Alistair, who was on watch, heard it too. Jannasilane stood at the entrance to the tent, wondering if she should wake him up when she heard him cry out. She made her decision and went inside while Alistair stayed nearby in case she needed a hand. Jannasilane blushed when she saw Blake’s naked form but crawled all the way inside, avoiding his fists, until she could whisper in his ear. She put her hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Blake, Blake, it’s only a dream, wake up.” As soon as she touched him he turned and clutched her to him as if she were the only thing between him and insanity. At that moment perhaps she was. He never woke but gradually he did settle into a restful sleep but every time Jannasilane tried to move away he tightened his hold. Finally she gave up and shifted so she was more comfortable, her arms loosely around him and his head pillowed on her breasts. Eventually she too fell asleep.

_Howe and his men were gone. The darkspawn were gone from his head, their incessant whispers and scritching disappeared. Well, maybe not gone so much as kept away by some benevolent force, a field of peace that appeared between him and the darkspawn. A blanket he could wrap himself in and finally relax. He was so damned tired. Gratefully he rested his head and slept._

 

Morning came, as grey and wet as the day before. Slowly Blake came awake. He stretched and shifted his head on the pillows without opening his eyes. _“Pillows?”_ He opened his eyes then and saw two gorgeous breasts. He followed their outline up to Jannasilane’s face. She was still sleeping and looked so young and vulnerable. He remembered then the nightmares which began shortly after he entered his tent for the night and wouldn’t let him wake but wouldn’t let him rest in sleep either. He remembered how they suddenly seemed to stop or go away. Certainly he felt very well rested. He smiled as he looked at Jannasilane; he was willing to bet he owed the best sleep he’d had since Ostagar to her presence. He moved so he could look down at her. Gently he kissed her on the lips and waited for her to open her eyes. She blinked, rather like an owl and looked up at him in sleepy confusion. “Thank you,” he said and moved out of her way so she could sit up.

 

Jannasilane sat up and smiled shyly before rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “I’m glad you’re not angry. I tried to wake you but you couldn’t hear me.” She scurried out of his tent to gather her clothes and change. Blake heard Alistair asking how she was and how he was. He smiled at the concern shown by his friend even though he suspected most of it was for Package. After last night he was going to have to talk with both of them, he had an idea but he wasn’t sure if they would go along. He whistled as he made coffee.

 

The day remained grey and wet and Blake’s spirits undimmed. Before they were close to camping for the night he fell into step beside Alistair. “Alistair, except for the night you took Jannasilane into your tent, have you had any nightmares?”

 

“Well, yeah, every night since then if you really want to know. Why?” Alistair asked.

 

“Last night, after Package came, was the first real sleep I’ve had since Ostagar. I want to try an experiment, if she and you agree. I want to combine our tents and for the three of us to share the space.” Blake looked at Alistair, “for sleep, not sex,” he hastened to add. Then he couldn’t resist, “though if sex happens . . .”

 

“So, the three of us have our bedrolls in the tent, Jannasilane in the middle I presume, and we see if the two of us have nightmares or not. You know everybody will think we’re both, um, having sex with her. Do you really think that’s fair? What does she get out of it?” Alistair didn’t know how he felt about Blake’s suggestion. He wouldn’t mind more time with Jannasilane but he wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with the idea of three of them sharing the tent. On the other hand being able to sleep each night was attractive. If there were more Wardens to share the burden he wouldn’t even consider it.

 

“She’s been in your tent, and mine. Morrigan talks because she’s a bitch, not because she believes either of us have a connection with Package. You’re right, it’s not fair. The whole situation is not fair. I hate the idea I might not be able to sleep without a pacifier, at least until the Archdemon is dead. I can try to work on blocking it out, but how long will that take? How long before not sleeping causes me to make a fatal mistake? Last night was the worst before she came, but they’re not getting any better. If you have any other suggestions I’d like to hear them,” Blake responded.

 

“Might as well talk to her now, then. Before we set up camp,” Alistair left Blake to get Jannasilane. The three of them wandered further away from the others so they couldn’t overhear.

 

Now that she was in front of them they hesitated to speak. Jannasilane looked from one man to the other, waiting. Finally she looked again at Alistair, “What is it you wish of me, Alistair?”

_“To let me lick and nibble you from head to toe,”_ was his immediate thought in response to her query but fortunately he was learning to think before speaking with her. “We’re thinking of combining our tents and want to know if you’ll join us,” he blurted out, his cheeks pink.

 

Jannasilane couldn’t believe her ears. Her eyes got wide and she flushed, “I-I-I d-don’t think I’m ready for that, Alistair. And when I am, am ready I think I would prefer to be with one man, n-not two.” She took a step away, blushing furiously then stopped as a thought struck her, “how would we even fit?” She slapped her hand over her mouth, mortified that she spoke that last out loud. Alistair’s eyes practically crossed at the images passing through his mind.

 

Blake burst out laughing; he couldn’t help it as he looked at the others even if he was a bit irritated at Alistair’s phrasing. “I’m sorry, Package, that’s not what he meant.” He went on to explain about the nightmares and how he had a theory that she somehow managed to block them. She calmed down and looked thoughtful while she considered this new information. He lifted an eyebrow, “I promise you one thing, my sexy little Package,” he leered playfully, “there are ways for the three of us to fit if you are ever so inclined. But that’s a discussion for another time should the two of you ever decide to favor me with such a gift.”

 

Jannasilane didn’t look at either of them while she thought. She remembered something her mother said and wondered. Not for the first or the last time she wished she could consult her directly instead of pages in a book. Just when Blake was convinced she wouldn’t agree she spoke. “Very well, if you think it might help we shall try this.” She walked away from them plagued by her secrets.

 

Alistair followed her. Tentatively he touched her on the shoulder, “Janna, are you sure you want to do this? If not we’ll just do what we’ve been doing. We could try setting our tents close to each other, with just enough room for you to sleep between us without actually sharing either of our tents.”

 

“Do you think that would work, Alistair?” she looked up at him, her eyes full of secrets yet trusting him to answer honestly.

 

His shoulders slumped, “No, not really. We don’t sleep that far from each other now. But if there’s any chance at all then I think if you want to try it we should.”

 

“I appreciate your honesty, Alistair, but I would rather test Blake’s theory in the most favorable conditions first and find out as quickly as possible if he is correct. Perhaps we could leave the tent flap open? At least for now?” she asked hopefully.

 

“We can do that. I’m sorry we’re asking so much of you, Janna. If Blake is correct then perhaps it’s connected to your ability to sense Grey Wardens.” Jannasilane just shrugged and smiled at him.

 

When it was time to set up camp the others watched with interest at Blake and Alistair worked on combining their tents into a larger one. Morrigan sneered, “So, Warden, you finally managed to seduce the dim-witted templar. I am hardly surprised.” Alistair flushed angrily but held his tongue. It was hard as the witch continued to make comments denigrating his intelligence, his will and his manhood.

 

Jannasilane, who’d been gathering firewood, came back in time to hear some of Morrigan’s comments. She narrowed her eyes in irritation and carefully put down her armful of wood. She sauntered past the others and purred at Alistair, “Wardens, shall we go inside to check how we fit?” She didn’t wait for an answer, she simply ducked inside. Alistair grinned and followed her inside, Blake close on his heels. Blake had to bite his tongue a few minutes later when Jannasilane looked at the two of them, frowned thoughtfully and observed, “The two of you are awfully big, I’m not sure you’ll both fit.” She looked startled when she heard a strangled coughing outside their tent.

 

The two men looked at each other and hid their grins from Jannasilane, they recognized Morrigan’s muttering. Blake, a little louder than necessary, reassured her, “Don’t worry, Package, I promise you we’ll fit.”

 

Jannasilane was the first at the fire the next morning; it was Leliana’s turn to cook. She was much better than either Alistair or herself. Morrigan sauntered up and eyed the small woman, “You look relaxed though I’m surprised you had room to turn in that small space.”

 

Surprised at the seeming friendliness of the witch Jannasilane answered her, “I think we all had a good night, thank you. At first I wasn’t sure it would work because they are both so large but it was just a matter of positioning. It was a snug fit but surprisingly comfortable once I got used to it.” She couldn’t understand why Morrigan was getting redder and angrier before stalking off. Leliana was hiding a small smile behind her cup of coffee. Jannasilane had no idea how her innocent remarks were infuriating the witch.

 

Later in the day Alistair remarked on Morrigan’s behavior, “Blake, does Morrigan seem a little strange to you? I mean stranger than normal. I’m used to the angry looks but now there seems to be speculation as well. It’s a bit scary, if you ask me.” Blake had also noticed the almost predatory speculation directed their way.

 

Leliana came up quietly behind them, causing them to jump, “Gentlemen, I think perhaps I can explain.” She regaled them with the exchange between Morrigan and Jannasilane at breakfast. By the time she was done Alistair was flushed and both men were laughing.


	7. A Simple Gift

 

So far Blake’s theory seemed to be correct. Jannasilane found she was sleeping better as well. She felt safe for the first time since her parents died and she enjoyed talking to Alistair at night before falling asleep while Blake took the first watch. Blake was a little harder to know; he was better at hiding his emotions and was naturally more aloof. Still, it was a bit difficult to not get to know somebody better when you woke up next to them every morning. He didn’t talk about his recent tragedy, or she hers, but sometimes in the morning or if they happened to be awake they talked a little about growing up. Blake was attracted to Jannasilane, but he felt protective of her more than anything. He enjoyed her enthusiasm for new experiences such as the trip they were making into Denerim.

 

Jannasilane’s eyes were sparkling with excitement as they neared the gates. “I didn’t realize how big it was. I thought Lothering was big, but this . . . this is huge. And noisy,” she answered with a slight grimace. She rubbed her ears, “I suppose I’ll get used to it. Do you think they have a Chanter’s board here, too? What will we do first? Do you think they have candied nuts? My mother used to tell me how much she enjoyed going to the big markets and treating herself to candied nuts.” Her expression grew wistful as she thought of her mother.

 

“I promise that if we find any candied nuts I’ll buy some for you, maybe we can share them later,” Alistair grabbed her hand and pulled her into the heart of the marketplace.

 

It was late afternoon and they were putting up the new and larger tent. Four would fit comfortably, and they would use one of the smaller tents as an entrance so the men could take off their armor without disturbing those sleeping within. Jannasilane finished tying down the corners and looked up at Blake, “I liked Denerim, once I got used to the noise. It’s all so exciting, so much going on. I do have one question, how can people stand to have their streets covered in such filth? I think that’s the first time I can remember actually wanting to wear shoes or boots. The alleys were even worse. Did you find out everything you wanted to know?”

 

“It’s worse than I thought. Loghain made Howe the Arl of Denerim. That’s a lot of power for one man to have and many of the Banns here are reluctant to speak out openly against either of them. They may not like what Loghain has done but with the darkspawn threat they need to be careful about committing forces against him.” Blake scowled at the thought then sighed in resignation, “On the plus side Loghain’s tactics are further alienating the Banns. He may not have people fighting against him right now, but he’s not going to get any more support. We’ve got some coin and we know which lands will be easier to travel through. Some of my family’s friends will turn a blind eye as long as we’re not too obvious. I’d rather fight darkspawn than Fereldens.”

 

Jannasilane peered up at him sideways, “Doesn’t it feel a bit strange to do work for Sergeant Kylon at the same time we act on tips from Slim Couldry?” She thought about it for a minute and added, “They’re both kind of fun, though.”

 

“Trying to make an honest man out of me, Package? Or maybe I’m trying to corrupt you,” he bumped her with his hip when she stuck her tongue out at him. He laughed, “We need the money. Would it make you feel better if I told you I only took jobs from Slim that hurt Loghain or Howe supporters? Tomorrow we strike a blow directly at Howe. That bastard has been stripping the Cousland treasury and instead of turning it over to the war effort he’s squirreling it away for himself. We’re going to take it back.” Jannasilane could practically feel his determination as a physical force.

 

She rubbed his arm in comfort and offered him some of the candied nuts Alistair gave her earlier. He refused and she popped one in her mouth, “I should thank Alistair again for his nuts.” She laughed at herself, “I like sucking on them and seeing how long I can make them last until all the sweet is gone. Sometimes I even roll my tongue around them to get the sugar out of the crevices.” Alistair had come up behind her and stood rooted to the spot. She was putting away the small sack of nuts and didn’t notice the heat lighting the eyes of both men at the images conjured by her words.

 

Alistair literally shook himself before letting them know the stew was ready. He watched as Jannasilane left them and Blake moved to stand next to him, smirking at the templar’s discomfort. Alistair’s voice was hoarse when he spoke, “Do you think she has any idea of what she’s saying?”

 

Blake shook his head, “No. If she were older or more experienced I’d say yes but if she’s grown up as isolated as she’s given us to believe then I can’t imagine so. She’d have to be the best actress or bard in Thedas to keep up that air of innocence for so long in such close proximity. Sorry my friend, we’re just going to have to enjoy, I mean suffer, her turns of expression until she starts to realize what she’s saying. I don’t know if I want that to happen or not.”

 

Alistair agreed, “She certainly makes life interesting, doesn’t she?” Blake slapped him on the back when he muttered, “If we survive.”

 

He had the first watch that evening. Jannasilane felt a bit awkward retiring for the night with Blake instead of Alistair. She still wasn’t as comfortable with him as she was with the large blond warrior. Tonight was also the first time there were three different watches, with the others alternating for the middle watch. Blake was aware of her discomfort and waited in the small tent until she was settled in her own bedroll before joining her. The larger tent made it easier for them to space their bedrolls a bit farther apart. He pulled out a map from his pack and made some markings.

 

Jannasilane watched him for a few minutes before saying anything, “What are you doing with the map?” She edged over to him and looked at the areas he had lightly shaded. She traced with her finger where he had shaded Highever.

 

“We should avoid traveling through these areas if possible. We’ve got a lot of traveling to do and I want to figure out the best routes. I think we should go through here and to the Circle of Mages next. The Dalish could be anywhere in the Brecelian Forest, so we’ll cut different swathes through the Forest as we travel around. Where’s your home?” Blake asked casually.

 

“It used to be down about here,” she pointed to an area east and south of Ostagar. Blake noticed that the area she indicated was very isolated and to his knowledge had a sparse scattering of very small villages and farms loosely connected by tenuous paths barely wide enough for a small cart or wagon. “I used to have a little dog I called Buttercup. We found him in the woods and Mom nursed him back to health. I think he was left in the woods because he was so tiny. He never got very big. He was my best friend for years before he died.” She smiled remembering her pet.

 

Blake nodded. He thought back to when General Lee was a puppy and how happy he was when the mabari chose him. He smiled, “Our nanny used to tell us a story about a dog named Hohaku. Want to hear it? I’m pretty sure I remember it,” Blake asked. She nodded and waited for him to begin. _“I should remember it after the number of times Nan not only told it to us but made us tell it back to her,”_ he thought. _“I used to get impatient with that tale; I know she wanted me to remember it because General Lee frequently annoyed her. Now I wish I could hear her tell it again, with that same note of exasperation.”_ He put away the map, blew out the candle, and settled back, “Well, it begins with a tribe in the mountains, the chief’s son, and the birth of a war hound . . .”

 

The next morning Alistair was watching Jannasilane packing up her things in the tent since they would be moving on as soon as they rescued some of the Cousland treasury. He’d already finished except for one small package. “Janna, um, do you have a minute? I have something for you,” he held it out to her when she turned toward him. “I noticed you having trouble with the streets in Denerim. I saw these quilted slippers in the market and had a leather sole put on the bottom. I hope they fit. I know they’re not exactly pretty or elegant,” his voice trailed off and he shrugged his shoulders.

 

She smiled at him and opened the package eagerly. She tried them on and lifted one foot to show them off. “I can’t even feel the leather, the quilting is so thick. How do they look?”

 

“Beautiful,” Alistair replied. When Jannasilane looked at him he wasn’t looking at her feet but at her face. Her lips parted and she blushed at the look in his eyes.

 

Impulsively she leaned towards him, “Thank you, Alistair,” and kissed him on the cheek. She was slow to move back and he turned his head, his lips barely brushing hers. Alistair found himself entranced by the green flame lighting up her unusual eyes. They stared at each other and he slowly brought his hand up and stroked the side of her face before sliding it through her hair to the back of her neck. He held her still while he closed the breath of distance between them and softly kissed her. She sighed and leaned into him without breaking contact.

 

When they finally broke apart a few minutes later they were both flushed and breathing unevenly. Alistair rumbled against her hair, “We should go.” Reluctantly he released her and watched her finish packing up and then exiting the tent. He took a deep breath and exhaled in a whoosh before following her out.


	8. Ambush Anticipated

Blake was in high spirits over the next few days as a result of successfully divesting Howe of his ill-gotten Cousland gains. Alistair was also in good spirits. He enjoyed waking up next to Jannasilane each morning and to his surprise didn’t mind that Blake was also in the tent.  Their travels were uneventful until some woman came running up to them yelling for help, “Thank the Maker, we were attacked! You must help us!” She ran off calling to them and leading the way.

 

Jannasilane stopped Blake and pulled him to the side, “Be careful, she’s lying, hiding something.” When he looked at her she had a far off look in her eyes and they seemed to be swirling ever so slowly.

 

“I don’t trust her or anybody I don’t know. But what makes you think she’s lying?” Blake was fascinated by the swirl of her eyes; he’d never seen anything like it. He felt he was looking into a gateway to the Fade until she slowly blinked and refocused on him.

 

Jannasilane continued looking at him and shrugged, “Her words had shadows.”

 

Blake thought a moment about what they would do. “If this is a trap, it’s too elaborate for ordinary bandits. We could leave but then whoever they are will try again and will know we’re on to them. I say we turn the tables. Morrigan, get ready with some quick immobilizers, Leliana you stay with her and have your arrows ready to go at the first sign of trouble or my signal. Alistair, Sten, stay in front of them but far enough away from each other not to be caught in the same attack. Package and I will be on the lookout for traps and hidden enemies. Not so different from usual, but we need to spread out and try not to look like we’re expecting a fight from them.”

 

“Is this some human wisdom, to knowingly walk into a trap?” Sten queried.

 

Blake and Alistair looked at each other and grinned. Blake answered, “Wise maybe not, but I think it’ll be fun.” Sten’s disapproval was obvious but he said nothing else. Going forward with surprise on their side they made short shrift of the would-be assassins. “Somebody went to a lot of trouble and expense organizing this. Let’s see what we can find.”

 

They began searching the bodies and removing anything useful or that had some value. Jannasilane was near the leader when he began to groan. She quickly went to his side and removed the weapons she could find as Blake and the others joined her.

 

Zevran had seen many beautiful women of different races, shapes and ages in his lifetime and the small woman near him was not one of them. Instead she was one of the most compellingly attractive women he had seen with her harsh exotic features, sensuous mouth and untamed hair. And her breasts, the way she was leaning he had a good view of a most impressive pair. He groaned, “If it weren’t for the pain I would think I was dead for surely such a goddess would not walk among us mortals.” Jannasilane looked around to see what he was talking about but Zevran’s attention was diverted to the man who snorted in amusement, the Warden. A very attractive man to be sure. And another equally attractive man with the build of a warrior and ruddy blond hair was nearby and glaring at him.

 

Jannasilane went to stand next to Blake, “He must have really good eyesight. I wouldn’t have thought he could see Morrigan or Leliana from where he is.”

 

“I think he was talking about you, Package,” Blake responded with a grin. He laughed when she hit him in disbelief and stood closer to Alistair. He turned his attention back to the assassin and kept his fingers on his daggers, “Now, what to do with you?” Zevran made several suggestions, only one of which was to answer questions. Alistair flushed at some of the answers and his eyes glittered dangerously when the attractive elf turned his attention to Jannasilane. Blake wasn’t at all surprised to learn the Antivan was one of the notorious Crows and hired by Loghain and Howe to rid Ferelden of its remaining Grey Wardens, namely himself and Alistair. Now he had to decide what to do with the tempting blond elf. He moved his gaze from those intriguingly wicked amber eyes to look at Package and Alistair, “So, what do you think?”

 

“You’re not seriously thinking of taking the _assassin_ with us, are you?” Alistair demanded in disbelief.

 

Jannasilane moved closer and stared at Zevran searchingly for several minutes while he in turn stared at her then tilted her head to look up at Blake, “He _is_ pretty, and he talks a lot.” She moved her hands as if weighing something and shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps.” She didn’t say anymore, just waited to see what Blake decided.

 

“We can use all the help we can get.” Blake looked at Alistair who grudgingly agreed and then held a hand towards the elf who took it willingly.

 

Zevran bowed to them, “Then I shall pledge myself to you. I, Zevran Arainai will aid you in your fight against the Blight. On this I swear.” They finished looting the bodies and moved on. Zevran fell into step beside the interesting young woman with the magnificent breasts. He hadn’t met many humans who were shorter than a lot of elves and he was prepared to take full advantage of the view his superior height offered. “So, little pocket goddess, you think I’m pretty do you?”

 

Jannasilane flushed a little even as she raised an eyebrow in skepticism, “‘Pocket goddess? That has more poetry than ‘sexy, little package’ though I think some people need their eyes checked. My name is Jannasilane.”

 

“Too late, you’ll always be Package to me,” Blake interjected. Alistair refused to be drawn in to the conversation; he was too busy grinding his teeth.

 

“Jannasilane, a beautiful name for a beautiful lady. It is only fitting that you have two such handsome men to dance attendance upon you. I am only too willing to join their ranks. How is it you travel with the Wardens?” Zevran asked flirtatiously.

 

She looked at him as if he had hit his head too hard when he fell to the ground, “I joined with them between Ostagar and Lothering. You said you were a member of some bird organization? What do they do? I’ve never heard of them.”

 

Zevran staggered back playfully, “I am crushed! You have never heard of the Crows? They are a guild of assassins out of Antiva, the best assassins in all of Thedas. They practically rule Antiva.”

 

Blake smirked, “And you’re the best they have? How is it that Antiva hasn’t been taken over before now?” Jannasilane left the two of them bantering together.

 

Later Jannasilane was walking with Alistair, who’d been unusually quiet since Zevran joined them, when he finally asked her, “do you really think he’s pretty?”

 

Jannasilane looked up at him, puzzled by his attitude but answered his question, “No, not pretty.” Alistair was relieved until she continued, “I think elegantly handsome is a better description.” He just grunted. He didn’t like that answer any better. “Don’t you think he could help us, Ali?”

 

He couldn’t keep up his bad mood when she was looking up at him like that, as if he were one of the most important people in the world. He smiled, “Yeah, he probably can, if he proves trustworthy. I’ll keep an eye on him until I’m satisfied, but Blake’s right about needing more help. We don’t have a single treaty ratified yet and thanks to Loghain we have assassins, bounty hunters and other unfriendlies more concerned about killing us than the darkspawn.”

 

“Well, maybe they’ll get bored,” she laughed.

 

“Ri-i-i-ght, because bounty hunters and assassins are known for their short attention spans,” Alistair replied with good humor.

 

While they were setting up camp Zevran paid careful attention to his new companions. Morrigan, as was her habit, set up her tent away from the others. For this he was grateful. He found Ferelden to be cold enough without the additional chill of the witch’s presence during the night. He noticed the size of the Warden’s tent with interest. Morrigan slithered up next to him, “that’s where they ‘sleep,’ the two Wardens and their plaything.” She left him once she noticed him eyeing the others in speculation.

_“Now why would the witch say that? She obviously bears no love for the delectable Jannasilane. Jealousy, perhaps? Or is the young woman perhaps not so young and innocent as I thought? The Warden, now he is not an innocent at all. I do not think I am wrong in thinking he might be interested in my handsome self. He is certainly an attractive and intelligent man. I wouldn’t mind a little dalliance with broad shoulders, agility, strong hands and tight rear. I have certainly dallied with worse on Crow business. And the pocket goddess, she is an intriguing young woman. A man could easily get lost in those curves and that hair. Perhaps traveling with the Wardens will be more fun than I thought.”_ He smiled to himself as he set up his tent where Blake directed him.

 

“Zevran, I’d like you to take the morning watch with me, if you don’t mind,” Blake ordered.

 

“Not at all, my dear Warden, it sounds like a good opportunity to get to know each other,” purred the Antivan suggestively and was rewarded by the banked heat lighting the other man’s eyes.

 

Zevran offered to cook dinner that night but Alistair wouldn’t hear of it. Not without close supervision to make sure no poisons made it into the pot. “Ah, to be watched . . . _closely_ . . . by such a handsome young man.” Zevran leaned back as attractively as he knew how, which was very attractive indeed. He allowed his full lips to form a sensuous pout and peered up at Alistair through his lashes, promising all sorts of wicked delights if Alistair only had the courage to ask. ”Please promise not to be **too** rough when you search me oh so thoroughly. You would not want to ruin me for play, after all.”

 

Nostrils flaring, Alistair gritted his teeth, “that is not what I meant.” His eyes were cold, a strange contrast to the heat staining his cheeks.

 

Fortunately Blake intervened, “I’ll do any searching that needs to be done. I’ll watch him and you can watch the food. Of course, if you were cooking a little poison might add some spice,” Blake teased his friend. He held his breath until the chill left Alistair’s expression. “We’re going to need some firewood.” He waited until Alistair nodded and stalked off. Blake looked at Jannasilane, “Package, I think you better go with him. He seems a bit upset.” Jannasilane, who’d watched the exchange with wide, startled eyes, agreed and hurried after her friend. Blake kept his eyes in Alistair’s direction, concerned and confused about Alistair’s unusual coldness. That coldness went far beyond disapproval and was out of proportion to Zevran’s over the top remarks. Once the templar was out of sight he finally turned his attention back to the elf. He contemplated him for several minutes in silence.

 

Zevran stared back at him and shrugged, “Are you planning on searching me, oh handsome rogue and fearless leader? You will find me a willing subject of your ministrations.”

 

Blake lifted an eyebrow, amused at the elf’s unabashed flirtation, “You certainly have a talent for making anything you say a sexual invitation but I suggest you keep yourself in check with Alistair. You’re not going to do yourself any favors if you make a point of turning him any more against you.” Zevran nodded in acknowledgement but did not say anything. Blake sighed, “Well, let’s get on with that search, shall we?”

 

If Zevran thought he might get something past the Warden he was mistaken. Blake was very thorough. Nimble fingers guided by a devious mind searched every article of clothing on his body for small pockets hidden away both inside and out. Blake didn’t linger, but Zevran felt every light touch as a subtle invitation. He shifted slightly so that he was leaning seductively against the larger man. The only sign that Blake was affected by their closeness was when he undid the braids in Zevran’s hair and ran his fingers through the golden strands. Only then did his movements falter briefly and his nostrils flare as he inhaled the other’s scent. Blake stepped away from Zevran and dropped the leather ties into the fire. “I’ll give you some more ties for your hair. I know _they_ aren’t soaked in poison.”

 

“I hope this means you are as delightfully _thorough_ in other pursuits, Warden,” Zevran purred, hiding his annoyance at having to rebraid his hair. Blake grinned wickedly but didn’t say anything.

 

Later Jannasilane was bringing more wood to the fire and had to stop to admire the scene in front of her. Zevran was cooking, loosely flanked by the two Wardens. Alistair was carefully watching the pot and Blake, as promised, was watching the assassin. “That is quite a picture of masculine perfection, is it not? I sometimes feel quite plain in comparison.” Startled because she didn’t hear the redhead’s approach, Jannasilane turned around quickly and dropped some of the wood she was carrying. “I am sorry; I did not mean to startle you.” Gracefully Leliana bent down and retrieved the firewood. As she handed it back she added, “In Orlais one noblewoman liked to collect handsome young men. She was incredibly ugly but also very rich. And powerful. Surely she would have tried to add the three of them.”

 

Jannasilane looked at her doubtfully, “Collected young men? Why? What on Thedas would she do with them?”

 

Leliana coughed to hide the laughter threatening to make an appearance, “Well, some nobles have statues, she has men. At least one in every room and she would rotate them. Sometimes even make them wear costumes. When she grew tired of one she would pension him off quite handsomely with the understanding he would leave the city. There are many innkeepers and merchants who owe the start of their business to her patronage.”

 

“And she had them in every room, even th-the bedroom?” Jannasilane’s voice squeaked on the last syllable as realization dawned on her. She grew very red in the face and the next sound was a very quiet, “oh.” When she could talk again she looked sideways up at Leliana, “You’re right about one thing, she probably would try to collect all of them.” The two of them were giggling when they finally reached the cooking fire.


	9. Stories

“I’ve never been to Antiva, though I think Mother was there once. She said it was very warm,” Jannasilane interrupted Zevran’s musings. She would have flushed down to her toes if she knew she was interrupting his plans for seducing her, Blake, or preferably both at the same time. Zevran was nothing if not ambitious when it came to pleasure. Jannasilane was a particular challenge for him because she was innocent enough that she did not always realize he was flirting and when he did compliment on her looks she didn’t believe him. The fact that Alistair did understand and didn’t like it just added an extra fillip of enjoyment.

 

Zevran looked down at her, he still found that a delightful occurrence, and into her intriguing eyes now wide with curiosity and possible friendship. “You wish to know more of Antiva, do you? It is warm like a lover’s embrace, I could show you if you like,” Zevran was encouraged by her sudden blush and that she did not move away. He could practically hear the templar grinding his teeth ten feet away. “They say that flowers are always blooming in Antiva, though I don’t know if that is true. I hail from the glorious Antiva City, a glittering gem on the shore of Rialto Bay.  Dark-haired beauties, the finest wines and music from minstrels’ lutes surround you. It is not harsh and cold like your Ferelden. I think you would enjoy the warm breezes through your hair, the hot sand beneath your feet and the cool waters of the ocean waves. Where do you come from, oh temptress?”

 

Jannasilane looked down and Zevran wondered what she was thinking. Finally she answered, “It doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t exist anymore. It was small and isolated but it was home.” She smiled at Leliana when she joined them. She was more comfortable with the redhead than she used to be. For her part Leliana was glad to have another young woman to talk to, Morrigan certainly would never fill the role of friend or confidante. In some ways Jannasilane reminded her of herself when she was younger and more innocent.  “Leliana, Zevran was telling me about his home. Have you ever been to Antiva?”

 

“Hmm, no. Lady Cecile often hosted delegates from Antiva. She was quite fond of Antivan wine and had many trading interests with Antiva. They were all very charming,” Leliana remembered. “After they left Lady Cecile liked to speculate on which ones were Crows and their purpose for coming to Val Royeaux. I think she enjoyed the, hmmm, the sense of having come near something dangerous. She was well past the age for suitors and tired easily. And I did travel with her to Rivain on a ship which stopped at several Antivan ports. Poor Lady Cecile, she was a bit confused. We were supposed to go to Nevarra,” Leliana giggled fondly at the recollection.

 

“Can’t she see how obvious he is?” Alistair growled to Blake as they observed Zevran’s interactions with Jannasilane.

 

“You mean more obvious than talking about her breasts?” Blake asked with feigned innocence. Alistair glared, and then smiled crookedly in acknowledgement. “Zevran flirts with everyone, you know that. Right now she’s enjoying his company. He and Leliana must seem rather exotic to her in comparison to the isolated farm that was her home. I’ll tell you one thing; he’s not going to wait for you to make up your mind what you want to do about your feelings for her. We’ve talked a bit on watch. He said something about taking advantage of the pleasures at hand because in his line of work tomorrow was uncertain.”Alistair nodded his head thoughtfully.

 

“Doesn’t it bother you, though? I’m not blind. I’ve seen you looking at him,” Alistair watched as Blake’s gaze traveled to the backside of the Antivan. He had to give the assassin credit for somehow making every little movement an invitation, though if he trailed his fingers along Jannasilane’s arm one more time he would be hard pressed not to kick him in the aforementioned backside.

 

Blake was pleasantly imagining those fingers on his own skin while he contemplated how best to answer his friend, “I admit I find him very attractive. I’ve always preferred wiry, slender men.” He looked slyly at Alistair, “though if you were so inclined I’d be willing to make an exception. Did I ever tell you about my friend Dairren?” The templar just lifted an eyebrow, by now he knew the rogue well enough not to take him seriously. He couldn’t help a slight blush from appearing on his cheeks. “Anyway, I need to be careful. Unlike you I don’t think it necessary to have some deep feelings for a potential partner but I want some reasonable degree of certainty that I won’t be poisoned or stabbed in the back.”

 

Alistair chuckled in agreement. “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said today.”


	10. A Gorgeous Sight

Blake had just left the tent to take his turn at watch. It was a warm night so the tent flap was partially open for the breeze. Since the three of them started sharing a tent together Alistair took the first watch and Blake the last. The others took turns on the middle watch. Blake smiled to himself when he noticed that Jannasilane, who had been sleeping on top of her bedroll, automatically went to Alistair and he put his arms around her. He smirked as he wondered how long it would be before they acted on their mutual desire.

 

Alistair no longer dreamed of darkspawn and the Archdemon. Now he usually dreamed of her. Jannasilane. At first he was uncomfortable sharing a tent with her and Blake, but it was undeniably the easiest way for the two Wardens to get some decent sleep. Alistair slowly woke to the feel of Jannasilane snuggled in his arms, her breasts pressed against his side. In her sleep she had thrown one leg across his which caused her night shirt to ride up, leaving the back of her thighs bare against his hand. Her soft breaths were teasing the hair on his chest around his nipple and he had to stifle a groan at the unusual but welcome sensation. His groin tightened when she nuzzled him in her sleep. For both their sakes he tried to ease away without waking her.

 

He froze when he heard her whisper, “Alistair?” Her eyes fluttered open as she realized he was awake. Unerringly her hand found his face in the dim light cast by the fire through the opening of the tent and gently stroked his cheek. “What is wrong?”

 

He couldn’t help himself. He turned his head into the hand against his face, his lips brushing against the palm. Her hand stilled but didn’t move away. Her breathing became a little more rapid. He darted his tongue out to taste her skin and grazed her palm with his teeth. She gasped and he felt her nipples tightening against him through her thin night shirt.

 

Jannasilane felt an electric shock travel from her palm to her toes and unconsciously pressed herself against him. When he moved his head, his mouth seeking hers she met him halfway. At first their kisses were gentle, but gradually he became more demanding and she opened to him. The flame between them roared back into a blaze and soon her tongue was dancing with his. Callused hands stroked her flesh, causing shivers to race up and down her spine.

 

Alistair moved her shirt up so his hand could find her wonderful, magnificent breasts. Maker, they felt good in his hand. So heavy and rounded, the large nipples straining for his touch. He left her mouth and kissed her neck and shoulder, all the while stroking, fondling and exploring her breast. While his hand played with one breast under her shirt, his mouth closed over the nipple of her other breast through the fabric and she squirmed against him. When he lightly bit her and then sucked she bucked up against him.

 

She felt so warm, and there was an unusual heaviness building up inside her. She wanted something, she wanted more. She whimpered when his mouth and hand left her breasts and he rolled away gasping, “We have to stop. I’ve wanted to be with you since the day we met and if we don’t stop now I won’t be able to stop later. I’ve never been with a woman before and . . . I like you and don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Jannasilane felt bereft when he moved away, but her heart melted at his confession. Shyly she whispered, “Alistair, sweet Ali, you are too good. I also am a virgin, though I think you know this. I like you, too. You’re attractive, funny, and kind. I do not want to hurt you either. I ask only to be with somebody of my choosing.”

 

He felt pleased, flattered and disconcerted all at the same time. Weren’t women supposed to want romance and marriage? According to the Chantry his first time should be with his wife, ideally a woman he loved and who loved him in return. He just didn’t want to feel like a transaction which is why he never went to a brothel. He regretted now telling Blake that he was waiting for true love. He didn’t even know if there was such a thing. He had been bone-deep lonely and isolated for so long, and she was so warm and willing and even liked him. This would be no meaningless encounter. It might not be love but he knew it would be special.

 

He sat up. She could see him watching her, weighing his words. Finally he said, “I can’t promise you anything only that I will try not to hurt you. I’ll understand if that’s not enough, but if you . . .” was all he could say. He waited. When she sat up and then got to her knees he thought she was getting ready to leave.

 

Instead she came to him. She put her arms around his neck and nibbled along his jaw line, “I choose you, my Ali, my friend.” All restraint vanished as he devoured her. He couldn’t recall who removed her night shirt, but suddenly her bare breasts were pressed against his bare chest, their nipples rubbing against each in almost excruciating sensitivity. His hands were grabbing her hair, holding her head in place as he sucked on her ear, licking and nibbling her jaw, kissing her cheeks and then chewing her bottom lip. He was a starved child in a candy store and she was every sweet flavor imaginable. When she wrapped her legs around him he shuddered, he was too close.

 

In a quick move that had her writhing he had her back against her bedroll. With one hand he braceleted her hands so they were above her head, her arms framing her exotic face. Her hair was wild and spilling all around her. “Don’t touch me,” he warned, “I need to slow down or we’ll both regret it. Let me look at you. Maker, you are so beautiful,” he breathed as his eyes, filled with golden flame, traveled down her frame. He was memorizing every detail of her, the desire and nervousness in her eyes, the pouty fullness of her sensuous lips bruised from his kisses, the marks of his possession against her skin.

 

When his eyes lit once again on those magnificent breasts he brought both hands to them. He marveled at how they overflowed his grasp, at how her nipples became fuller and harder under the movements of his thumbs. They just begged for his mouth to engulf them and he obliged. He licked, sucked, bit and pulled. His hands squeezed, caressed and tweaked. Jannasilane’s hands were grabbing the bedroll in an effort to keep herself anchored while trying not to touch him as he requested. With one hand he ruthlessly pulled off her small clothes so she was fully revealed to him. Sudden shyness kept her still under his gaze. Slowly, reverently, his hand traveled down her torso, lying flat against her stomach for a moment before traveling further. His fingers tangled in the curls between her legs. He nudged them further apart and licked suddenly dry lips as she became completely open to him. His fingers explored the folds of her and found her entrance, damp with her desire.

 

He remembered something he had overheard one of the other recruits talking about and had a sudden urge to taste her. He slipped his hands under her rear and grabbed her as he brought his mouth to her core. His nostrils were filled with a spicy, musky scent that was all Jannasilane. He savored it before he started licking and lightly nibbling the tender flesh. Jannasilane started when she felt his mouth down there, the animals on the farm certainly never did _that_. Soon she was once again lost in sensation. Her fingers suddenly curling in his hair and her breathless whimpers urged him on. The roughness of his tongue when it entered her caused her to gasp in pleasure. She could feel herself growing damper as he feasted, something was coming. Something scary and wonderful. Then he stopped. He looked up at her, “I’m sorry, love, I can’t wait anymore,” he growled and finally pulled off the loose cotton britches he slept in along with his smalls. He didn’t see her gaze widen when she saw his manhood for the first time, fully erect and pulsing with life.

 

As he kissed his way back up her torso all she could think was that _that_ was supposed to fit _there?_ Oh how she wished her mother had told her a little bit more. For a moment she relaxed against him when he kissed her, exploring the odd sensation of tasting herself on his lips. Then he thrust once, hard and deep and she felt a searing pain as something inside her tore. She closed her eyes against the pain but tears slowly leaked out. When he started to move again she panicked, “Don’t move, just, just wait.”

 

Alistair thought he had never felt anything as wonderful as when she fully surrounded him. The tight fit, the warm heat made him feel as if he had come home. He enjoyed the moment until he felt the urge to move begin to overtake him. When he heard her whispered plea he stopped and looked at her. The tears he saw smote his conscious and only now did he remember something else he had overheard; that the first time for a woman was almost always painful. That the barrier he thought he felt wasn’t just her body’s unfamiliarity with the act but a physical barricade of flesh he had ripped through without thinking. He knew he was not a small man in any respect. Using all his willpower he held himself still inside her as he kissed her tears away and apologized for hurting her.

 

Jannasilane felt the pain receding and her body stretching to accommodate him. His concern and the tender way he kissed her tears made her relax some more. Soon she began to enjoy the feel of him inside her. When he nuzzled her ear and traced its outline with his tongue she gasped and moved her hips in unconscious invitation for him to move. He did so, slowly at first and then faster as she became more receptive. Finally desire ruled all and he was thrusting in and out, hard and fast until he spilled into her. The moment of his release he thought he was going blind with pleasure, he kept pumping until he was empty and collapsed on top of her. Her arms loosely embraced him, stroking his hair, his neck, his back while her own body quivered from frustrated desire and remembered pain before relaxing. She nuzzled him where his neck met his shoulder. She licked his skin, causing him to shiver. She felt him start to harden again inside her, this time the sensation was pleasant.

 

He pulled away, though it was hard to leave her warmth. She winced a little at first and he smiled, relieved because she smiled up at him. He found a health poultice, some clean cloths and water. He looked down at himself and grimaced to see he was covered in her blood. “ _Maker, I’m surprised she can bear to look at me.”_ Alistair crawled back to her. He kissed her lightly on the lips and then poured some of the poultice and water onto a cloth. She sighed in relief when he started to clean her in light, soft strokes. The cool water and healing potion making her feel much better. He poured a lot more of the poultice into the cloth and just held it against her entrance, hoping it would help. Only when he felt he had done all he could did he clean himself up. He did so quickly and then lay next to her, wrapping his arms around her, grateful she didn’t pull away from him. To his surprise she snuggled closer. “I am so sorry I hurt you, I never wanted to hurt you,” he whispered into her ear.

 

“I know, Ali. I was surprised more than hurt,” she lied. “I liked most of, err, it.” She could feel herself blushing when she added that last.

 

Alistair looked at her, his expression serious. “Don’t lie to me. Maybe you did enjoy a lot of what we did, but I know I hurt you. Don’t ever lie to me, not even if you think it will make me feel better.”

 

She looked at him. Slowly she nodded her head, “very well. I will not lie. When you, you were first inside me it hurt. The pain was mixed with surprise, but I did start to feel some pleasure again. That is the truth. I know you didn’t want or try to hurt me. That is also the truth. Nothing my mother said quite prepared me for the reality. I am still surprised you fit. That too is the truth.” She lay her head back down on his chest, soothed by the way he held her and stroked her hair. “I like the way you hold me, as if I were something precious. Is that enough truth?”

 

“I suppose that will do for now,” he half chuckled. “Now get some sleep. You wore me out, you know.” Her answer was to punch him. He gave an obligatory ‘oof’ and they both drifted to sleep.

 

This time Jannasilane woke first. She was sprawled on top of Alistair, his hands loosely draped over her rear and the two of them were naked. She blushed as she remembered what happened between them and smiled shyly to herself. His light snoring reassured her he was asleep so she took advantage of the opportunity to really look at him. _“I didn’t realize how many muscles he has. No wonder he wears that armor as if it were nothing.”_ Her eyes moved down from his chest and she shifted so she could see the rest of him. She gulped when she saw his manhood lying softly against a well-muscled thigh, _“it looks so different from last night, but still big. His hair is a bit darker than the hair on his head, it looks soft.”_ Tentatively she reached a hand down to stroke it. When her hand touched him his member twitched and she jumped.

 

“It won’t bite,” Alistair rumbled laughingly. He hugged her to him and brought her face to his, “But I might,” and he kissed her. He sat up holding her in his lap with her legs wrapped around his waist. She could feel him growing behind her. “Good morning, how are you feeling? You look beautiful,” he said huskily.

 

“F-fine, Ali.” She stuttered and blushed at the way he was looking at her, his hazel eyes gold with the fire burning in them. She leaned into him and kissed him softly, sinking into his embrace. Soon they were lost in mutual tenderness and growing desire.

 

Blake entered the tent, calling out, “Wake up sleepyheads, time to get-” he stopped suddenly when he saw them. He whistled, “Well, now, that’s a gorgeous sight first thing in the morning.” He allowed his gaze to wander as they froze. He smiled in appreciation of their generous assets. His friend was a well-built man, indeed. “I hate to interrupt but everybody else is ready to go. There’s coffee and some food left.” He sobered when he turned and saw the bloody rags. Blake looked back at Alistair with a question in his eyes. Alistair nodded and the Warden indicated the two men would talk later.


	11. An Unexpected Circle

_“So, the templar finally made his move,”_ Zevran thought as he watched Alistair and Jannasilane emerge from the tent. Zevran recognized the slight air of possession and the air of smug male satisfaction after having achieved the object of one’s desire. He strolled over to the breakfast fire where the new lovers were quickly grabbing a meal. “So, did the two of you _sleep_ well? You look a little bit tired, bellissima. I hope Alistair didn’t _thrash around_ and keep you awake,” Zevran smiled innocently at them. Alistair wasn’t fooled and he frowned at the assassin. Jannasilane was confused by the Antivan’s odd phrasing. Fortunately they were in a rush and she didn’t think any more about it.

 

Later, while they were traveling, Jannasilane sought out Leliana. She had some questions and while she trusted Blake more than the redhead she felt uncomfortable talking to a man. She made sure they were some distance from the others before she drummed up the nerve to speak, “L-Leliana, m-m-may I ask you s-something p-personal?” She couldn’t bring herself to look at the other woman and just knew her face was as bright as any fire. Leliana murmured her assent, her eyes twinkling as she suspected the subject under discussion. “Y-your first time w-with a, um, with a man . . . well, did it hurt? Will it hurt again?”

 

“I thought you and Alistair had furthered your relationship,” Leliana answered. Jannasilane looked up at her in surprise. “You are a bit different around each other, and to one who knows the signs . . .” Leliana’s voice trailed off and she shrugged elegantly. “But I do not think you realize you are asking two different questions.” This time Leliana flushed delicately, “I am honored that you feel comfortable enough to ask me. Did it hurt the first time? Ye-es, there was some pain but more discomfort. He was skilled enough and, hmmm, let’s say thoughtful enough to make it as easy as possible. Since we are all aware of Alistair’s lack of experience is it safe to say you experienced more than just a little discomfort?”

 

Jannasilane was relieved that she understood and was willing to answer her questions. Letting out a soft sigh Jannasilane relaxed. She explained with perhaps more detail than she had planned. Leliana just nodded, keeping her expression under control because she did not want Jannasilane to regret telling her anything. She liked the younger woman, girl really. She didn’t know why Jannasilane seemed wary of her from the moment they met. Leliana determined that Jannasilane would not regret confiding in her. When Jannasilane finished talking Leliana tilted her head thoughtfully, “well, Alistair showed sensitivity to your needs, that is a plus. In time he will become more skilled and, I think, more in tune with what you desire. He has a generous nature and surely that will transfer to more intimate activities. He seems willing to take direction which should make it easier to tell him what you like or don’t like.”

 

They walked in silence while Jannasilane digested everything she just heard. Finally she spoke up, “so it won’t hurt again?”

 

Leliana hesitated as she debated with herself how best to answer, and then decided on total frankness, “It might. Though not in the same way.” She went on to explain that a woman’s body needed to be prepared in order for there to be no pain. She also discreetly described some alternate types of play until Jannasilane felt more comfortable. “That is why you must learn to talk to each other. Now, sometimes a little pain can intensify the pleasure but that is something you must find out for yourselves.” She smiled when Jannasilane’s eyes got wide as saucers and her mouth formed a perfect ‘oh’ of astonishment. Leliana couldn’t help giggling a little, “You know, men’s parts are not all the same size. So, how big, *ahem* is your warrior? I ask in the interest of your well-being, of course.”

 

Jannasilane chewed her bottom lip as she thought about it. She took out one of her daggers and used it as a measuring stick. This time it was Leliana’s eyes which widened, “Maker’s breath, I’m surprised you can walk!” Jannasilane sniggered and soon the two were howling with laughter. At one point they looked back at Alistair, who was talking to Blake, and started giggling again.

 

Thankfully the uncomfortable part of their conversation was over. Blake had given Alistair some helpful advice and they quickly moved on to what they might expect at the Circle. With his templar background Alistair suggested that possibly a number of unharrowed mages might have succumbed to demons, making difficulties. They were distracted by the giggling ahead, “What are they giggling about and why are they looking at me?” Alistair muttered. He glanced at Blake in a mild panic when he started chuckling. “Blake?”

 

Blake coughed, “Alistair, my naïve friend, women talk. My guess is Package and Leliana have been talking about last night and you. I think they enjoyed their conversation more than you did ours. I wonder if Leliana gave young Package some tips,” he added musingly.

 

“Oh, Maker! What is it with women?” the templar just shook his head and hoped it was not possible to die of embarrassment. Blake nearly choked when Alistair added with some relief, “at least she didn’t talk to Morrigan. If she had my parts would probably shrivel to nothing.” They both shuddered at the thought.

 

Zevran sidled up next to the giggling women, “the two of you seem to be in good spirits. I enjoy the laughter of beautiful women. Care to share what has you in such a good mood?”

 

Leliana and Jannasilane looked at each and started giggling anew. Finally Jannasilane gasped out, “No, I really don’t think so.” She refused to say any more no matter how he pried. Finally Zevran gave up and fell into step beside Morrigan. It was time to start working on the bet he made with the Wardens. Well, the Warden.

 

They reached Lake Calenhad the following afternoon. The Circle Tower was on a small island in the middle of the lake and they first had to convince the temporary ferryman to let them across. Confused would be the kindest way to describe the templar, Caroll. Alistair felt sorry for the lyrium-addled man and didn’t even grind his teeth when Caroll suggested Jannasilane stay with him for companionship. Fortunately Blake convinced, or intimidated, the man into letting them across. Only Jannasilane and Zevran went with the Wardens. The others would wait for them at the Spoiled Princess.

 

Jannasilane didn’t like the Tower. As soon as she stepped inside she felt uncomfortable. Knight-Commander Greagoir wasn’t thrilled to see them and only reluctantly explained that the Tower was overrun. There were too many abominations for his templars to handle and he’d sent for the Right of Annulment. “What is the Right of Annulment?” she asked Alistair.

 

“If the Grand Cleric grants it then the templars here will destroy everything and everyone in the Tower,” he answered soberly. “It’s only to be used in extreme circumstances. The mages inside are probably all dead or worse.”

 

Blake was arguing with the Knight-Commander. Finally they came to an agreement, “We’re going to find out what happened and restore order. The mages might be lost but we’ll get the templars’ support when we go up against the Archdemon. I am not going to require any of you come in with me, once those doors shut behind us they may not open again.”

 

“I’m with you. I thought my templar training would only be used against darkspawn emissaries, not abominations in the Tower but you’re going to need it.”

 

“I am with you and Ali.”

 

“You are not going to rid yourself of me so easily, my dear Warden. Perhaps I can comfort some young mage who will be grateful for my rescue.”

 

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose but Blake grinned at the assassin, “Not if I comfort him first.” Jannasilane ignored them all and strode through the open doors. The doors clanged shut once the four of them were inside.

 

Jannasilane moved forward slowly, looking and listening. She stepped into one of the apprentice quarters and wandered past beds, bodies, and small chests. She looked into a small alcove and stood staring at the broken bath. She started to shiver and rubbed her arms. “What happened to the doors?” she asked in an attempt to mask her apprehension.

 

“There were never any here. These are the apprentice quarters, senior enchanter and tranquil mage quarters are upstairs. None of them have any doors to prevent mages from getting together to practice unsanctioned magic,” Alistair explained.

 

She turned around and looked at him, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. Alistair started squirming under her cool gaze. “So you could peep on the mages while they sleep, bathe and change clothes? I didn’t see any female templars out there in the front hall.”

 

“Perhaps I should have been a templar,” Zevran murmured mockingly. Alistair glared at him and Blake tried to hide a smirk.

 

“Look, I agree it’s hard on the mages. I’m not saying it’s right. I was never a templar and only templars would be assigned here but they’re not supposed to . . . to ‘peep’ as you put it.” His shoulders sagged, “but I’d be surprised if none of them did. I can’t exactly blame mages for not liking us. Young templar recruits don’t have any more privacy and I hated it. I never met any female templars but there are no rules against it so far as I know.”

 

“Humph,” Jannasilane sniffed and walked out to the hallway where she waited. “I do not like this place, Alistair. There is a, a wrongness here. I feel something pulling at me, trying to suck on me. The air is crawling over us.”

 

“I could suck on you instead. I assure you that you would find it more pleasurable,” the elf leered. Jannasilane looked at him blankly and Zevran sighed.

 

Concerned, Alistair put his hand on her shoulder, “I feel it too, but not as strongly as you. Do either of you feel it?” He chose to ignore Zevran’s comments. The other two men shook their heads. “I think that whatever happened here thinned the Veil and the spirits are much closer to us than normal. Be prepared.”

 

Zevran grimaced, “oh good, if we can’t see them how do we fight them, oh mighty templar?”

 

“If they’re here instead of in the Fade you’ll have no problem seeing the demons. Though they do have an annoying tendency to disappear into the floor only to reappear behind your back. Once this is over if any mages are still alive they’ll be able to strengthen the Veil. You probably should let me take the lead,” Alistair added.

 

“Gladly, this is way beyond my knowledge. I am really happy to have you with me at this moment,” Blake was as grim as they’d seen him.

 

They ventured further in and found a small group of mages and children. An older woman was standing guard at the doorway where some magical barrier had been erected against whatever was inside. A demon tried to get out and she quickly got rid of it. When she heard their footsteps she whirled around, ready to attack, “You!” she exclaimed when she saw the Wardens. “Stand back. I don’t care if you are Grey Wardens I will not just let you cut us down.” Jannasilane glared at the older woman. Nobody threatened her Wardens.

 

“Relax,” Blake smiled charmingly, “We’re here to see what’s going on and to resolve the situation. The old guy doesn’t have the Right of Annulment yet. Alistair and I met Jannasilane outside of Lothering and Zevran is a Crow from Antiva. He failed to assassinate us. Senior Enchanter Wynne was at Ostagar.” He turned back to the mage, “I am happy to see you survived the battle. What happened here?” he asked soberly.

 

“A nasty man named _Uldred_ ,” Wynne’s voice positively dripped with disdain. “He was at Ostagar but somehow managed not to be wounded. By the time I recovered enough to return he had just about managed to convince the First Enchanter to side with Loghain, that the Circle would have more autonomy. Well! I certainly was not about to let First Enchanter Irving remain ignorant of that man’s betrayal. Why Uldred would trust him I have no idea. Loghain has no love for mages. When Irving confronted him Uldred revolted. He obviously spent time recruiting several of the more discontented mages to his cause and now the Circle is in chaos and demons run rampant.”

 

Jannasilane was drawn to the barrier while they talked. She reached out to touch it and gasped. It seemed to sing to her and sent tingles all the way through her body. Zevran was watching her and lifted an eyebrow at her obvious pleasure. He touched the barrier and got a nasty shock. That got Alistair’s attention. His eyes widened when he saw the look on Jannasilane’s face, he’d seen that look the other night. Quickly he pulled her away from the magical door, “I don’t think you should be touching that.”

 

Wynne agreed, “I’m surprised you were able to do so. I should have to lower the barrier but I have a feeling you could walk right through it. I don’t think that’s advisable. Be careful, child. The way ahead might be particularly troublesome for you. Now, all of you stand back.” Wynne brought her barrier down and the five of them stepped into trouble.


	12. Beleaguered by Demons

 They were approaching the library when Alistair stopped them. He looked down at Jannasilane, “Do you sense anything ahead of us? Since you seem to feel magic, if that’s the right term, maybe you can sense what we might be walking into.”

 

“You mean like you and Blake sense the darkspawn?” Alistair nodded encouragingly. “I will try to do this.” Wynne watched in fascination as the young woman’s eyes lost focus as she tried to determine what awaited them. She also noticed her hand holding tightly to Alistair’s. Jannasilane blinked several times and looked up at Alistair, “I think there are somethings near the door and farther in it feels like,” she tilted her head considering, “it feels like there are moving hotspots farther away.”

 

“Moving hotspots? Rage demons, perhaps. We shall find out soon enough,” Wynne readied her staff as Alistair led the way. Jannasilane was correct. The ‘somethings’ turned out to be abominations and possessed or charmed templars while the hotspots were indeed rage demons. The foreknowledge provided by Jannasilane enabled them to quickly dispatch the creatures. “This is one of those times I wish I knew some freezing spells. A blizzard would have been quite handy.”

 

“I don’t know, turning them into rocks so we could smash them seemed to work just fine,” Alistair replied. “It even gave me a manly sense of self-satisfaction.”

 

“Oh, Alistair, really,” Wynne rolled her eyes. The others snickered quietly.

 

“There are so many books; they can’t all be about magic can they?” Jannasilane was awed. Reverently she trailed her fingers along the edges of the books on the shelves, wincing whenever one was damaged or speckled with debris.

 

“Many are, of course. We also have histories, books on various flora and fauna, languages, geography, potions, races . . . I don’t think there’s anything we don’t have. We’re very proud of our library. Some of our texts are quite ancient and kept under lock and key in special containers. Perhaps when you have time and everything is more settled you can return and examine them more closely. For now we have other things to do,” Wynne reminded Jannasilane with a touch of asperity. Secretly she was tickled; so few students seemed interested that it was truly a joy to find a potential scholar.

 

Jannasilane flushed, “You are right.” She prepared herself for the next round of monsters but couldn’t resist one more glance at the library shelves. “Books are better than demons,” she muttered so quietly that only Zevran heard. He chuckled appreciatively. He was no scholar but he could certainly agree with that statement.

 

As they battled their way through the lower floors of the Circle Jannasilane found she was best able to detect rage demon and arcane horrors, hot and cold spots. It helped Wynne know which spells to prepare. She could detect other presences but not well enough to distinguish between blood mages, abominations, shades, or even charmed templars. The best she could do was sense where more powerful entities were lurking. Her head hurt from the contact. Physical fighting actually relieved the pain for short moments in time but there was still so much left to do, so many creatures between them and Uldred. When they entered the next level she breathed more easily, the immediate area was free.

 

“We’re by Owain’s stockroom, perhaps he is near, I hope he made it,” Wynne murmured. She looked more closely at Jannasilane. She could see the pain the young woman was trying to hide. “Child, you’re hurt. You should have said something,” she moved closer.

 

“Janna?” Concerned Alistair knelt and looked her over, “I don’t see any injuries.”

 

Jannasilane allowed herself to lean against Alistair for a moment, “My head aches, Ali. Every time my mind brushes against one of these creatures, it hurts. Killing them helps.”

 

“Then we’ll have to kill them faster,” he kissed her forehead before he stood up. “Wynne, can’t you do something? You’re a healer.” He looked back at Jannasilane, “When we’re done here I’ll start working with you on some templar meditation techniques. The same ones I’ve been trying to teach Blake. Hopefully we won’t run into something like this again but if we do maybe you’ll be better able to defend against it. Now let Wynne see if she can do something.” He stepped aside for the elderly mage and watched in concern.

 

“I’m going to perform some mild healing and increase the speed of your body’s natural healing ability,” Wynne said gently. Jannasilane sighed in relief as the pain in her head dimmed to a minor throbbing. “Unfortunately I don’t dare try to remove it entirely, not at this time. I’ve never met anyone like you, child, if I send too much healing magic towards you while we are surrounded by demons or worse I could cause irreparable damage or the conflicting magics could. I just don’t know and as long as you are able to function I prefer not to try. Doing so could leave you open to all sorts of attacks. I’m sorry, my dear.”

 

Jannasilane smiled, “I feel much better. Thank you. Is that your friend over there?” She pointed to the middle of the stockroom and began walking in that direction. As she drew closer she noticed that the pressure from the magic was lessening. She mentioned as much to Wynne.

 

“Perhaps because he is Tranquil, and before you ask a Tranquil mage is one whose connection to the Fade has been severed and is a null field, magically speaking.” Wynne smiled at Owain, “Owain, it is good to see you are still alive. Have you seen Irving or any other mages?”

 

“Niall was looking for the Litany of Adralla, but I do not know if he found it. I do not know where Irving might be. I hid when the demons came and then tried to leave but there was a barrier. Now I must clean. They made a mess in the stockroom.” He began setting the room to rights.

 

“The Litany of Adralla, Niall was at the meeting. There must be many more blood mages than we’ve seen so far. As bad as the abominations are the blood mages are worse. They will try to control our minds. If we can find Niall and the Litany we can fight against their efforts. We must hurry!” Wynne urged them.

 

The higher they went, the deeper into the Circle, the more and stronger enemies they had to fight. Jannasilane might suffer, but her abilities allowed Wynne to be more efficient and use less lyrium which might be needed later. They were moving fairly quickly when they heard a faint voice which almost seemed to be crooning. Jannasilane gasped and put her hand on Alistair’s arm, “there is something powerful up ahead, more powerful than we’ve seen yet.”

 

When they found a desire demon with her enthralled templar Blake muttered, “I wish you could be wrong sometimes, Package.” The demon had ensnared the lonely man with an illusion of the wife and family he’d always wanted, a dream Alistair understood all too well.

 

“I like it, all of the companionship and none of the cleanup,” the elf said cheerfully.

 

Wynne had quite the opposite reaction, “What you are doing is obscene and must be stopped!”

 

None of them were inclined to let the demon walk away with her prize, not even Zevran. Unfortunately that meant the templar died as well, his fate entwined with that of the desire demon. After the battle Alistair and Blake found a note, an official reprimand about his bad attitude while Wynne rooted through a broken cabinet looking for anything salvageable. Jannasilane was behind the privacy wall examining some things in a corner and rubbing her arms as if she were trying to remove something. Zevran took the opportunity to sidle next to her. “Is something wrong, Pocket Goddess?”

 

“I do not like these desire demons. They twist up something inside me, making me feel things that aren’t mine,” she shuddered.

 

“You mean you feel desire, right now?” he asked curiously. His eyes lit up at the opportunity presented to him. “Desire is one of my specialties, perhaps I can help,” and without giving her a chance to protest he covered her mouth with his own. He slid his hands into her hair enjoying the silky feel as he held her still. She was too shocked and couldn’t move anyway. Zevran took advantage of her stillness to deepen the kiss. He explored her mouth skillfully and gently ran his nails behind her ears and down her neck, scratching and massaging tense muscles. When she finally relaxed he stopped. She wavered for a moment when he broke the kiss and looked at him with hooded eyes. “Do you feel better now?” he asked and stepped away from her with a pleasantly inquiring expression.

 

Surprised by his question she took a moment to think. She worried a bit that she found Zevran’s kiss pleasant but had to admit that much of the darkness caused by the desire demon was gone or faded. She nodded her head cautiously and he smiled and left her. He mentioned to Alistair that Jannasilane was feeling some ill effects from the demon and watched the templar hurry around the corner.

 

“Why are you looking so smug, Zevran?”

 

The Antivan was disconcerted that Blake could read him so easily and took extra care in schooling his features as he looked at the Warden lasciviously. “Now I have you without the templar, my dear Warden. Perhaps the pocket goddess is not the only one to feel the lingering effects of a desire demon,” he purred.

 

Blake felt his groin tightening at the blatant invitation in the assassin’s amber eyes and took half a step toward him before regaining control of himself. “Too bad. Now’s hardly a good time to do anything about it,” he said. _“Though I wouldn’t mind giving it a try. Maker, I want to feel that elf under me.”_ He turned towards the door and raised his voice, “Alistair, Package, we need to move.” He couldn’t help smiling as the two of them hurried from around the corner. Package was blushing and definitely had kiss-swollen lips. For his part Zevran was rather pleased with the progress he had made with both objects of his desires.

 

Jannasilane held out some charms to Wynne, “I found these. Perhaps they will be useful?” Wynne examined them quickly and nodded approvingly. “Now that the desire demon is gone I feel clearer,” Jannasilane spoke to Blake, refusing to look in Zevran’s direction. “I fear there is a more powerful demon nearby, but I cannot tell you anything about it. It is in there,” she pointed to a door across the hall.

 

“Great, let’s see if we can find anything else to help us, maybe some more lyrium for Wynne. I have a bad feeling about this,” he shook his head.


	13. After the Fade

Blake was beyond tired. _“At least the mages, those left, will be fighting with us. One treaty acknowledged two more to go. I’m certainly glad Alistair and Package were with us or it could have been a lot worse.”_ He watched them as they worked by the lake. She kept requesting he cleanse the area around them of mana in order to remove the ‘bad Fade’ from her. She said it coated her mind like slime and lingered like the smell of rotting eggs. Blake hated to think of what might have happened if they were in there for much longer. Her ‘magic barometer’ might have helped them but she suffered so much from the exposure. He shook his head thinking about their forced trip to the Fade so soon after their encounter with the desire demon. It might have permanently damaged or even killed someone less strong than their Package. He had to smile as he remembered meeting Demon-Uldred. He threatened to turn Blake into one of his creatures and Package leapt to his defense, shouting ‘No one threatens my Wardens!’ The screech she directed at the demon had him reeling and made it much easier to cut him down. Certainly dealing with Uldred was much easier than battling through the Fade.

 

 _“Did the sloth demon just get lazy? Why on Thedas would it choose Duncan and Weisshaupt as the vision I would most likely get lost in? Or perhaps it was amused at the thought of one of us escaping only to go round and round from one Fade island to the next, from one trap to another. Father always said General Lee and I were well-matched in stubbornness. Poor Niall, he seemed like a good man.”_ Blake sat for a while longer, just thinking and letting his mind drift. He smiled a little to himself, _“Too bad I can’t turn into a golem or a burning man whenever I want. That part was kind of fun. Maybe I should keep that thought to myself; I don’t want anybody to think I’m crazy or can’t lead this bunch. Sten is disgruntled enough, though it is hard to know what he’s thinking. Alistair is the only one I trust enough to lead, or would if he were ready._

_I wonder if Zevran made a move on Package. She’s been acting a little odd around him, but maybe she’s just still upset from the desire demon. Funny how she could sense the Sloth demon was there because it was so powerful, but was more hurt by the desire demon. . . She should probably stay away from lyrium. Wynne says Fade lyrium is different from real lyrium but I don’t really understand what she meant. I can still see Package hugging that lyrium plant as if her life depended on it when I found her. She wasn’t paying any attention to the demons. In fact she looked drugged, but when I showed up she was ready to go. She said it helped block out the demons and her headache._

_That templar, Cullen, hurt her. I have to try and remember that he wasn’t trying to do so but I don’t know if I can forgive him for making her bleed. He’s strong though, had to be to survive that ordeal. It was worse than the Fade, I think. As soon as we were in the room Package moved as far away as possible from him, from that magic cage. I thought templars were supposed to have better control. I suppose weeks caged up and tormented by blood mages would make even Sten lose it. What a strange thing that was, Cullen’s rage wasn’t part of the cage that held him, but when he let his anger loose the cage got stronger and sent out spikes of energy and poor Package got headaches and a nosebleed. Yet Wynne and Alistair felt nothing. At least he apologized then and again later. He looked so miserably guilty and upset when we were leaving the Circle. By Andraste, I’m tired.”_

 

He looked around camp. Zevran was cleaning his daggers and was obviously not in the mood for company. Blake couldn’t blame him, when they were all trapped in the Fade Zevran was forced to relive the brutal Crow training he endured. He had to be convinced he wasn’t a recruit being tested. It was harder to get Alistair out of his personalized prison. He looked so happy in the alternate universe created for him. Blake watched the templar working with Package and smiled, _“I was more surprised that he had a sister than that he imagined living with the luscious Package. No wonder he didn’t want to leave at first.”_ He searched for and found Wynne. She looked as tired as he felt. He wandered over, “Are you sure you’re up to this, Wynne? It’s not going to get any easier. Kester can row you back if you’re having second thoughts.”

 

Wynne studied the young man in front of her. He was so very young to have so much responsibility thrust upon him, both the Wardens were. Tired as she might be she knew her place was with the eclectic group around her. She smiled gently at him, “I appreciate your concern. I’ll be fine after a night’s rest; these old bones still have some life in them yet. And I think my healing skills will be quite useful in the days ahead.” Her attention was caught by Alistair once again doing a cleansing around Jannasilane. “She is a very unusual young woman. I know Alistair plans on teaching her some templar meditation exercises to help build her resistance to magic. I’m not sure that will be enough. Did you know that a lot of the early training for young mages is about control and building defenses rather than magic itself? While I hope we don’t find ourselves in such a situation again I think maybe I can help her.”

 

Blake shrugged, “That’s up to Package but it sounds good to me.” Before he left he looked at her once more, “I’m glad you decided to come with us.”

 

Before settling in for the night Blake approached Jannasilane where she was brooding by the water, “Package, I’d like to talk to you about something. Come walk with me?” Silently she joined him and they walked away from camp and the Spoiled Princess.

 

Alistair watched them leave before beginning to make his rounds. He was concerned about Jannasilane, ever since being trapped in the Fade something was bothering her. She told him readily enough about the desire demon’s effects but not what happened after encountering that sloth demon. He wanted to ask her about it, but she kept changing the subject whenever he began speaking about it. Maybe Blake could get her to talk since he helped all of them get out of their nightmares. Alistair flushed as he remembered how easily he was fooled. Maker, he surely would have made a lousy templar if he could be that easily tricked. Thankfully Blake promised not to say anything.

 

Blake finally turned to her after several moments of uneasy silence while he contemplated how to begin. She was watching him warily, like a wild deer poised to flee. He decided to change his tactics, “So, I’m one of _your_ Wardens, am I?” He smiled at her, “Thank you. Did I ever tell you why I became a Grey Warden?”

 

She relaxed. “N-o-o,” she replied slowly.

 

Blake sat down, arms crossed around his knees, and waited for her to sit next to him. “My father was the Teyrn of Highever. Arl Renden Howe was his friend for more years than I’ve been alive. Or so we thought. When King Cailan called on the lords of Ferelden to send troops to Ostagar in order to fight the Blight Father immediately began preparations. Couslands have always done our duty to king and country. The plan was for Arl Howe to bring his troops from Amaranthine and together they would travel south. I should say that was my father’s plan. Rat Bastard Howe had his own plans,” Blake sneered. He put an arm around Jannasilane when she laid her head on his arm. She snuggled against him, soothing him more than she realized.

 

He laid his head on top of her hair before continuing, “Howe’s family lost some of their holdings when they sided with the Orlesians. Later, after his father was defeated, Howe brought his family and troops over to the side of Maric and the rebellion and when it was over he was allowed to remain the Arl of Amaranthine. I never liked him but my father did. Or at least he felt a kinship because they fought together. His children were alright, Nathaniel and I used to be good friends. I don’t know if he always felt that way or if it started later but Howe resented the fact that his family was now of lower status than the Couslands. Amaranthine is a rich and influential Arling but that wasn’t enough. His resentment festered and he took advantage of the call to arms to betray my family. Fergus had already left with most of my father’s men and we were greatly outnumbered when Howe loosed his soldiers in the night. They were taking no prisoners. They even killed Oriana and my nephew, Oren. I can still see his stuffed bunny on the floor between him and his mother, soaking up their blood.” He felt her tears against his shirt and didn’t notice his own falling on her hair.

 

His voice dull and weary with pain Blake continued, “Howe’s men killed our guests, my old nanny, and any servants who didn’t manage to escape. Howe wanted no word getting out before he could put his spin on the situation. My sister Elissa, I told you that you reminded me of her, she,” he choked up and couldn’t continue for a moment. He hugged Jannasilane to him, “she was younger than me, about your age. They raped her before they killed her. She could be so gentle in spite of her fighting abilities. She didn’t even like killing spiders.” The tears became thicker and his body started to tremble with his grief. Jannasilane held him tight and nuzzled against his chest like a cat, giving what comfort she could. The trembling stopped and his words were thick with sorrow, “We found Father dying near the emergency escape in the pantry. Duncan managed to get him there while he looked for us. Mother elected to stay and fight by my father’s side, giving Duncan and I a better chance to escape. They loved each other, something not frequently found in noble marriages. They urged me to tell the king what happened so Howe wouldn’t get away with his treachery. Duncan’s price for helping me get to Ostagar was my becoming a Grey Warden.” He fell silent after that, finally dealing with his own pain even as he waited for her to speak.

 

Jannasilane was crying harder, his story was close to her own and she couldn’t contain it any longer. “The Chantry murdered my parents,” she finally sobbed.

 

This time it was Blake giving comfort as he held her and stroked her back soothingly. “My parents were kind people and Mother was very beautiful,” she sniffled when she quieted. “They did not wish to live in a city and we could be self sufficient on our small farm. They understood the woods and between what we raised and the wild plants and animals we had a good life. Mother was a talented herbalist and Father was an equally talented builder and carpenter. Last winter a vicious disease attacked villages in our area. Mother used up most of her potions treating the ill while Father took care of their properties. Many of the villagers owe their lives and livelihood to the care they received from my parents.”

 

“They sound like good people,” Blake whispered quietly against her ear, not wanting her to stop. He’d seen enough of her nightmare to guess some of what happened but she needed to tell it in her own way.

 

“Yes,” Jannasilane replied proudly, “they were.” She smiled a little, dwelling on happier memories for a time. “I told you our village was too small for a Chantry of its own. The Chantry in a neighboring village was the only one for miles. I was taught to believe in the Maker, but we were not regular Chantry-goers. Sometimes we went, but we had to take care of our farm and my parents did not believe in all the Chantry’s teachings. I think mostly we went just to be with our neighbors and others. Usually people brought a lunch and everybody would gather together afterwards and relax. It was like a picnic. There were many who did not go regularly because of the distance involved. Sometimes a Revered Mother was at the Chantry but frequently there was only a Revered Sister and a Brother. Unfortunately, during the winter Brother Trey and Sister Alicia fell ill. By the time somebody was able to make their way through the snow to my mother it was too late. All that could be done was to prepare them for burial and send word to Lothering since it was the nearest Chantry outside our villages.”

 

“Brother Trey and Sister Alicia were gentle folk and well loved. They respected my parents’ abilities and willingness to help others.” Blake could feel the sneer on her face with her next words, “Sister Faline and Brother Morris were not. She saw her appointment as beneath her capabilities and she resented the influence my parents had. _Sister_ began to discredit my parents. Oh, she was very subtle and never mentioned them by name. It was always, ‘ _such a shame people don’t realize how important it is to come to the Chantry more often_ ,’ ‘ _we should give thanks to the Maker so many survived last winter even though Brother Trey and Sister Alicia did not_ ,’ and even ‘ _I thought only witches outside the laws of the  Chantry could be so skilled with herbs._ ’ Bitch. Even though she laughed when she said the last, she was deadly serious. Her efforts would probably have come to nothing without the assistance of _Brother_ _Morris_. I don’t know where the Chantry found him, but somebody made a mistake. There was nothing Brotherly about him. He was a mean-minded man yet he was able to influence a lot of people. Somehow he hid his true nature and many liked and respected him.”

 

She shook her head in disbelief. “Mor-r-is-s-s,” she hissed, “saw my mother and wanted her. He didn’t care if she broke her marriage vows or he his to the Chantry. He decided he loved her and should have her, that he _deserved_ her. She kept refusing him, politely at first, but he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.  I was there when he grabbed her and demanded she submit to him. She hit him and he grew very still. I saw his eyes narrow and got my daggers ready. I don’t know what would have happened if Father didn’t come in at that moment. He grabbed Brother Morris’s arm and hustled him away, telling him he shouldn’t return and maybe should think of requesting a transfer. Morris was furious and instead began telling people he felt an unholy influence causing him to desire my mother. The Sister began preaching about the dangers of magic and the evil of witches, that it was the duty of the faithful to root out such evil and how evil could use good works to disguise its true nature.” She stopped speaking as she brooded.

               

“Of course we didn’t know this right away. My parents didn’t want to embarrass the man and had said nothing of his earlier behavior. One of the women my mother saved last winter warned them that Morris and Faline were creating ill will towards us. That week they went to the Chantry without me for the first time. They were so upset when they returned home. We decided to leave for Denerim earlier than planned and in secrecy. My father, when he built our home, built an underground escape that would take us out to the woods. It was supposed to be in case of something like fire. Nobody could find it even if they were looking and it could only be opened from inside the house. He connected it to an underground cave which opened in the forest behind some rocks.” She fell silent again while Blake just held her and stroked her back and hair.

 

“I knew they were demons in the Fade and not really my parents or the others. I prefer fighting darkspawn. All this demon/blood mage . . . my skin recoils from the air. They tried to get into my mind, ugh,” she shivered. The night was warm and yet she felt chilled. If Blake weren’t holding her surely her teeth would be chattering. Reluctantly she continued, seeing the events play out once more.

 

_“We need to leave, Jerad.” Jannasilane had never seen her mother so agitated. “I wish now . . .” she didn’t finish whatever she was thinking. Instead Alessandra began gathering a few items from around their home, those she considered most important to save. Her father was grim. He didn’t disagree and went to the barn to prepare the animals for their absence. Jannasilane silently joined him; there was much to do._

_Finally he turned to her, “You’re a good girl, Jannasilane Alenahaella. I want you to know how proud I am of you and how very much I love you.” He seemed to be debating something with himself and finally motioned to the bench. “Sit down, Janna. We need to leave. Your mother is right about that. That Brother and Sister,” he spat out the words, “have worked their poison very well. I’m worried that he might try something. We can’t let anything get in the way of leaving for Denerim and meeting Duncan. I think you know how important that is. I want you to study the maps until you can find your way across Ferelden blindfolded in case we’re separated.”_

_“You’re scaring me, Father,” Jannasilane turned wide frightened eyes on the only father she’d ever known._

_Jerad gently patted her hand and smiled sadly, “I know, my girl. You’ve never experienced the prejudice of some of your ancestors, for which I thank the Maker. Sometimes good people can be persuaded or coerced to do horrible things under the right conditions. Brother Morris has been working with Sister Faline to create those conditions. They’ve been convincing some of those from surrounding villages that your mother is a witch and a blood mage. I think he could convince them to do something violent in time. If we leave, things should blow over and maybe we can return. We’ve taught you how to survive in the forest and how to fight with daggers and bow, though I hope it never comes to that.”_

_They were very busy but by the end of the second day they had done all they could. They finished dinner and were spending their last evening around the fire. Alessandra was working on her daughter’s dress for Denerim and Jerad was getting small packs ready to lower into the tunnel. “This color will look beautiful on you, Janna. I should be able to finish it before we reach Denerim,” she said, looking fondly at her only child. “You are such a lovely girl; it will be nice when you don’t have to wear a dress that’s too small for you. You’ve grown up so fast. It seems like only last week you were crawling along the floor.”_

_Jannasilane couldn’t help laughing, “It was. I dropped the basket of herbs and had to pick them up. It was amazing how far they spread.” Her parents chuckled along with her. Soon they fell silent, the seriousness of their situation once again to the fore of their thoughts._

_“Come, Janna, I’m going to lower you into the tunnel so I can lower the packs to you. Then in the morning we can leave straight away.” While she and her father were busy Alessandra started to prepare some tea. She looked out the window, she would be sorry to leave their home but she wasn’t going to chance any harm coming to Jannasilane because of a nasty man. Too much was at stake._

_“What is . . .” she looked closely at a light flickering in the woods. It was a torch, no, torches. Quickly she went to Jerad where he was handing packs to Jannasilane. “Jerad, people are coming.”_

_In one fast move he shoved the rest of the packs into the tunnel, “Janna, take the most important and start moving, we don’t have time to come down with you and close the entrance. Maybe it’s nothing but just in case . . . if it’s safe we’ll meet you in the back of the cave in an hour. Don’t wait any longer. Find the Wardens. We love you,” he didn’t wait for an answer before he fitted the cover over the tunnel. It took a few minutes for Jannasilane to sort through the packs in the dark. She didn’t dare light a torch. She could faintly hear somebody knocking at their door and then footsteps. She strained to hear what was happening, she heard a thud and her mother crying out her father’s name shortly followed by screams. Tears fell down her face as she heard Brother Morris shouting and realized what they were doing.”_

She began crying harder, “He was raping her. They must have only knocked my father unconscious, because it wasn’t long before he started shouting at them, cursing them. Some of them were people he and my mother helped. There was nothing I could do, I couldn’t go back. Then the ‘good Brother’ ordered them to burn the house down. My parents were still alive; their screams followed me down the tunnel. I did circle back. If those people were gone I was going to try and rescue my parents but it was too late. I saw somebody watching from the edge of the woods. It was Sister Faline watching and gloating, vicious cow,” her hands were clapped over her ears in unconscious mimicry of her actions that night and then she completely broke down. Blake just held her tight while she sobbed. Together they grieved for their respective families.

 

They never noticed Alistair watching them. He’d gotten worried when they were gone for so long and followed them.  When he found them he stood watching for a few minutes and turned away when he heard sobbing. He didn’t want to intrude on their privacy. He made a few arrangements and continued keeping watch.

 

Blake was holding Jannasilane protectively in his arms. Her sobs had finally stopped except for the occasional hiccup and sniffle. “I did a terrible thing,” she finally whispered.

 

“What did you do that was so terrible?” he asked quietly. He kept holding her and stroking her for comfort, though he wasn’t sure if it was for hers or his.

 

“I was so angry at them. I, um, I burned down their Chantry. It was wrong but I wanted to make them pay, somehow.”

 

Blake didn’t say anything at first. He cleared his throat, “Was anybody inside?”

 

“Of course not!” Jannasilane said indignantly. “I had to pass it after I left home. I knew I was ahead of _them._ They always locked up the Chantry so nobody could get in without permission, they didn’t want anybody taking shelter from a storm without tithing,” she curled her lip in contempt. She sighed, “When I saw the Chantry, locked up waiting for _their_ return I was so angry. How dare they have a place to come home to after what they did?! Before I knew it I was shooting an arrow of fire through the window. It went right over her desk. I saw flames flickering and building inside. Then I ran away,” She stopped speaking and sat up, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

 

He grabbed her chin and gently but firmly tilted her head so she had to meet his gaze, “Do you regret it? Did it make you feel better? Will you do something like that again?” He kept hold of her while she answered.

 

Her face was blotchy and tear-stained, her voice hoarse. “I wish I hadn’t done it. It’s going to hurt the villagers more than anything else. It was stupid and selfish and reckless, and my parents wouldn’t have been pleased. I’ll understand if you don’t want me around anymore.”

 

“Oh, Package, Package you do have a temper.” He kissed her on the forehead and felt her relax slightly. “You were mad with pain and grief and maybe burned down an empty building. If Duncan weren’t with me . . .” He shrugged, “I’m not going to say anything. Maker knows I’ve made my share of mistakes. However you can't lose control like that again.” He looked at her quizzically, “Is that why you didn’t like Leliana at first? Because of her association with the Chantry?”

 

“Maybe,” Jannasilane shrugged.

 

Blake stood and helped her up. Holding hands they returned to camp feeling exhausted but lighter. Alistair intercepted them, “You don’t need to stand watch tonight. I’ve arranged everything. Are you both alright?” he glanced at Blake but most of his attention was on Jannasilane. It hurt him to see the evidence of her tears but he didn’t say anything else. She gave him a tired smile and hugged him before going into their tent. Blake was sincere in his gratitude and followed her inside. When Alistair joined them at the end of his watch, Jannasilane was snuggled in Blake’s embrace. Even in sleep he was protecting her. Alistair lay down and smiled to himself when she reached out to thread her fingers through his.


	14. Levi’s Story

Blake was up early the next morning. He watched the sun rise from the shore of Lake Calenhad and reflected on how much better he felt after his talk with Package the night before. He hoped she felt better as well. _“Burning down the Chantry, naughty girl,”_ he thought, smirking to himself. He probably should be more outraged but under the circumstances it was hard to fault her too much. She was still so young. She had time to moderate that temper.

 

Jannasilane was brushing her hair, thinking about the previous night. She felt a lot closer to Blake than she had before. She looked at the still sleeping templar, _“he’s still not my Ali, though,”_ she thought and smiled at the sleeping man.  She put down her brush and moved closer to Alistair. She sighed sleepily and lay back down, pillowing her head on Alistair’s chest. Automatically his arms wrapped around her, making her feel safe.

 

When Alistair woke a short time later he yawned and smiled at the woman in his arms, “Feeling better?”

 

“Yes, thank you,” she replied. “In fact,” she slid so she was completely on top of him, “I’m feeling wonderful.” She began peppering his chest with kisses. She was ready to put Leliana’s advice into action.

 

Slow heat filled his gaze, “Well then, if you’re sure, let’s see if we can do better than last time,” and he hauled her up so he could kiss her properly. “A perfect way to start the day,” he muttered against her breasts. She giggled and then gasped when he slid his hands under her shirt to grab her rear. Faint sounds of laughter drifted towards the shore.

 

Blake was still standing by the lake when Leliana found him, “Blake, I’ve been looking for you. While you were busy at the Circle a merchant showed up asking for you. His name is Levi Dryden, do you know him? He’s waiting at the bar. He said he wanted to talk about Duncan.”

 

He glanced at their tent. Not seeing any movement he decided to talk to this merchant, “I have some time to spare; I’ll go see what he wants. I’ll scrounge up some coffee first. Thanks, Leliana.” He wandered in the direction of the Spoiled Princess, wary of some stranger looking for Wardens. Then again, Leliana was pretty shrewd if possibly crazy. She likely would have sussed out whether this was another spy or bounty hunter. A man was sitting at a table near the bar drinking some coffee. _“He looks harmless enough, and he’s the only stranger in here.”_ He spoke to the proprietor who offered him coffee and a simple breakfast. Deciding breakfast at a proper table was a rare luxury now they were on the road and more or less on the run he decided to take advantage of the offer. His manner was deceptively casual as he strolled over to the stranger, “mind if I sit down?”

 

“Warden, it’s an honor,” the man quickly shook hands. “Levi Dryden at your service, I have to say you’re a hard man to find. I was a friend of Duncan’s; did he ever mention me, perhaps? Me and my family helped bring the Wardens back to Ferelden under good King Maric.”

 

Blake looked at the man thoughtfully while the innkeeper brought him his breakfast. He nodded his thanks but didn’t say anything until it was just the two of them again. “Thank you for your part in that, I think I remember hearing my father say something about Maric and the Grey Wardens but I don’t recall any of the details. I hope you don’t mind me eating, it’s quite a treat these days to have eggs for breakfast.” Levi indicated he didn’t mind at all. After several moments of concentrating on his breakfast Blake spoke again, “Duncan never mentioned you, but I joined the Wardens after they were already called to Ostagar. I didn’t know him for very long.”

 

Running footsteps and giggles entered the Spoiled Princess as Jannasilane and Alistair raced inside. “I won,” she declared and stopped short when she saw Blake sitting with a stranger. She flushed and then nearly fell over when Alistair ran into her. Only his quick movements kept her from falling. Alistair saw Blake then, quietly laughing at them. Alistair just grinned in return and looked curiously at his companion.

 

Blake waved them over, “Package, Alistair, meet Levi Dryden. Merchant and friend of Duncan’s who has been searching for us, and not even to kill us. Levi, meet my fellow Grey Warden, Alistair and one of our traveling companions, Jannasilane Alenahaella. Take advantage of some non-Alistair cooking while Levi tells us why he was looking for us.”

 

“I think Duncan spoke about you a couple of times, he said a friend of his was a merchant he met when he first came to Ferelden. Pleased to meet you,” Alistair said politely though he wasn’t sure he liked the way Levi was looking at Jannasilane.

 

“Alenahaella?” Levi frowned thoughtfully, “I met a woman almost twenty years ago, a friend of Duncan’s actually; Alessandra Alenahaella was her name. I remembered thinking what an unusual name it was and that it sounded rather musical. Lovely woman, is she a relation by any chance?”

 

“She was my mother,” Jannasilane replied softly. “You were a friend of m-Duncan’s?”

 

“Well, we were of an age and when the Grey Wardens came back to Ferelden we struck up a friendship. We were both a bit of a scamp back then, two young men in Denerim, and kept in touch as we could,” Alistair relaxed during the exchange once he realized Levi’s interest was not personal. Blake explained that Levi had been looking for them.

 

Alistair quirked an eyebrow, “And you said it wasn’t to kill us? That _is_ a refreshing change,” he said drily.

 

Once again conversation stopped when the innkeeper came with the additional breakfasts. Blake eyed her plate with amusement; there was almost as much food as on Alistair’s, “Work up an appetite, Package? Apparently some things improve with practice,” he commented sotto voce. She tried to stare at him with regal disdain but she was blushing too much to pull it off. Alistair decided he was better off not knowing what Blake had said to her and concentrated on breakfast and listening to Dryden.

 

“ . . . Duncan was going to help me at Soldier’s Peak. My great-great-grandmother was Warden-Commander and I was hoping to clear her name. He thought there might be information or artifacts valuable to the Wardens still there but then darkspawn showed up down south and he got busy with recruiting and organizing the Grey Wardens at Ostagar, Maker bless King Cailan,” Levi finished. “So, will you help us, Warden? I’m not a fighting man and there’s no saying what we’ll find.”

 

Blake looked at him, “Let me think about it. Package, Levi’s a merchant, why don’t you introduce him to Bodahn and Leliana and maybe see about our supplies while we finish.”

 

“Thanks, Warden,” the man replied. He offered his arm to Jannasilane when she rose and they left the inn.

 

Once they were out of earshot Alistair turned to Blake, “You’re thinking of going to Soldier’s Peak, aren’t you?

 

“Yes.” Blake didn’t elaborate; he wanted to give the other man a chance to voice his opinion first.

 

“Good. I think we should go as soon as possible,” Alistair’s answer surprised Blake.

 

Blake was curious, “I thought you wanted to get to Redcliffe?”

 

Alistair was serious when he answered, “I do, but Redcliffe will be there tomorrow. Even Loghain will have trouble with the Bannorn if he tries to march an army against Redcliffe. If there’s any useful information in the old Warden stronghold I want us to get it before he remembers such a place exists. Who knows how much we lost from Denerim which might help us now? I haven’t been a Grey Warden long enough to pretend to know everything. That’s Morrigan’s job,” he muttered as the witch made her appearance.

 

“Warden,” Morrigan’s voice was strident as she marched over to their table, “there is some middle-aged man with your little friend and you and Alistair are wasting the morning away in order to stuff your faces. Do you plan on leaving at all today?” The disdain was once again in her voice when she mentioned Jannasilane and Alistair.

 

“We’ll leave when I say we leave,” Blake said coolly. He hated the way Morrigan disparaged any of the people they traveled with but especially his friends. “If you don’t like the way I am doing things you are more than welcome to return to the welcoming bosom of your mother. You two have such a loving relationship I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.” His sarcastic tone and hard gaze made Morrigan flush but she said nothing else, simply sneered and flounced away. “Have I ever mentioned how grateful I am that you’re a templar?”

 

“Good thing I don’t have much of a temper or I’d be spending all my energy trying not to smite her.”

 

Blake grinned then, “I dunno, you seem to heat up pretty quick when Package is around and I’ll bet you did some ‘smiting’ this morning.” He laughed when Alistair just groaned.

 

Alistair smiled a little remembering their morning activities. _Jannasilane was lying on top of him, her hands propping her head as she looked down at him. She was smiling at him, smoky green sparks in her eyes, “That was a lot more fun than last time, my Ali. Leliana was right.” She wouldn’t tell him anymore no matter how much he tickled her. They were finally getting ready to leave the tent when she got serious, “Alistair, I wish to speak to you about my parents. I wasn’t ready to talk before last night . . .” He listened and assured her he wasn’t mad at her and was glad she trusted him enough to talk about something so personal. Maybe it was perverse of him but he rather liked her temper, though she should probably learn some control._

 

“Much as I hate to even seem to be acting as she wants me to, Morrigan is right. We need to get going. By my calculations it will take two weeks or more to get there. I have a hunch it won’t be easy.”

 

Alistair stopped Blake before he could leave, “Before we go I’m glad you talked to Jannasilane last night. I knew something was bothering her after our unplanned venture into the Fade. She was able to talk about her parents this morning. They seem like good people who didn’t deserve what happened, not that _anybody_ can be said to deserve being raped and burned alive.” He shook his head in disgust, “the Chantry tries to weed out people like Brother Morris but it’s inevitable that some slither through.”

 

“Why inevitable?” Blake cocked his head.

 

“Not all are in the Chantry willingly, you know. It’s easier for them to vet people who say they feel a calling to serve Andraste or even those who choose a career in the Chantry because it suits them. That’s why many Brothers and Sisters are scholars or clerks. But any orphans raised by the Chantry, or other children like me who are brought there, have almost no chance of avoiding a life as a Brother, Sister or Templar. Duncan had to conscript me, after all. Otherwise you’d probably have to do something pretty heinous in order to be kicked out. They don’t want to let people go after all the time and effort they’ve put into their training and education.” Alistair frowned, “I’m glad nobody saw her burn the Chantry. Hopefully it’ll be put down to a darkspawn attack. She was wrong, but for all their views on charity I doubt they would pay any attention to her age or that she was mad with grief and anger.”

 

Blake agreed and the two men headed out to notify the others they were going to Soldier’s Peak. Since Levi wasn’t much of a fighter and as a merchant could travel the roads freely he would meet them near the base of the mountain.


	15. Snow Play

Zevran was not thrilled when he observed the new closeness between Blake and Jannasilane. What puzzled him was that Alistair actually seemed happy about the situation. _“The templar does not seem to be very open-minded when it comes to matters of romance or sex, yet still he willingly shares a tent with his fellow Grey Warden. Do both of them now have a connection with the pocket goddess? This is . . . unexpected . . . and intriguing. How does this affect me, I wonder?”_ His mind whirled with plots and possibilities.

 

Morrigan was not pleased either. Her eyes narrowed, _“That little bitch is going to get in my way, somehow. I can feel it.”_ She looked over at the assassin and realized he was assessing the new situation. _“He’s planning on interfering somehow. Maybe I don’t have to do anything; I’ll just wait and see. There’s time yet.”_

 

The next few days were relatively uneventful or as uneventful as a day fighting random thugs and small groups of darkspawn could possibly be. The days they didn’t meet anyone or anything they had to fight were rare. The closer they got to Soldier’s Peak the colder the temperature. Snow flurries sometimes added variety. “I love the snow,” Jannasilane exclaimed when they woke up one morning to a thick blanket of fluffy white snow. She bounced away from a grouchy Alistair after calling him ‘Mr. Grumpypants;’ his plans for the morning did not include a romp through the cold stuff. Blake watched her with indulgent amusement as she deliberately fell backwards into a mound of unbroken snow and began waving her arms and legs. Carefully she eased herself up and jumped away before turning around to view her creation, “Ha, a perfect snow fairy. I used to try and create a chain of them when I was little,” she said to anyone who was listening as she shook the snow out of her hair.

 

Blake couldn’t help laughing, “Package, you’re still little.” He said before he ducked inside their tent to move Alistair along.

 

“Why? What purpose is served by such an activity?” Sten asked. “Does it make you stronger?”

 

“It’s for fun, Sten, no other reason. Don’t Qunari ever have fun? What do your children do?”

 

“We have revelries when it is permitted. Our children do not spend time in frivolous pursuits; they are raised by and study under the Tamassrans who evaluate them and at the proper time assign them their role or duty. To do otherwise is a waste. We do not value waste.” Sten explained at more length than usual, possibly he may have been goaded by the look of sympathy on her face.

 

“I bet you never did this, either,” and she bent down to fashion a snowball. He eyed her curiously when she stood, watching her tent and waiting. Blake came out and she did nothing. Alistair came out and she let loose. It hit him square in the face and he started to sputter. “Oops, sorry,” she called out insincerely, trying not to laugh at his look of indignation. He glared at her, his expression promising retribution, but he turned towards breakfast. A Warden had priorities after all.

 

Sten had moved back a little. He fashioned a snowball of his own and when Jannasilane turned around he hit her in the face with it. “Oops, sorry,” he said, his expression deadpan. “That is the correct form of address in the situation is it not?” and he turned and walked away. Jannasilane’s look of comical surprise gave way to appreciation and she laughed merrily before bounding over to Alistair and giving him a cold and exuberant kiss.

 

Alistair grumbled at her, “Mr. _Grumpypants?_ You weren’t calling me that a few hours ago. I don’t like snow when we’re traveling, I admit it. It slows us down. And now I’m cold and wet. But I am **not** grumpy,” he insisted. His arm was around her waist in a loose embrace, his hand on her hip. Unconsciously he traced circles against her with his thumb, “my idea of fun in the snow is not to be traveling and have a warm room with a roaring fire ready to return to. Maybe some hot spiced wine or rum to drink and a pretty girl to kiss. Know where I can find one?” he teased.

 

She looked up at him sideways through her lashes and snickered, “That sounds nice, except I would prefer a handsome man.” He smiled and took a minute to admire the way the snow crystals decorated her hair like miniature diamonds before they melted. Sighing he turned his focus to taking down their tent. It was going to be a long day. He looked suspiciously at Zevran when the elf began helping him. At least Jannasilane was helping Bodahn and Sandal tie things down on their cart and she couldn’t listen to his overtures. “What do you want, Zevran?” he asked brusquely.

 

“I am simply offering my assistance, oh mighty templar,” Zevran answered lightheartedly. “In this cold weather it occurred to me that perhaps your fingers were moving more slowly than normal. Your pocket goddess does not seem to feel the cold as do the rest of us mortals. She is truly a delightful sight decorated with lace of snow, is she not? I would think with your recent exertions you would be in a better mood.”

 

“My exertions? What do . . . oh,” Alistair’s voice trailed off into a low mutter.

 

“I did wonder if perhaps your performance was affected by the cold. It seemed you were just getting started when all became silent. I have some herbs from Antiva which, if you chew them, can prolong your  . . . exercise session. And if you arch your back -”

 

“Enough!” Alistair declared, thoroughly embarrassed. “We are not talking about this, go bother Blake or Morrigan or somebody,” he growled.

 

“Tsk, tsk, you Fereldens. How will you know how to pleasure each other if you do not _talk_ to each other,” he shook his head in mock horror before dancing through the snow to join the Warden.

 

“Zevran, I see you have been spreading cheer to our good friend, Alistair,” Blake greeted him. “Although he doesn’t look thrilled.” Blake grinned at Zevran, the cold air brought a blush to the Antivan’s cheeks that he found quite attractive and made him think of other ways to bring out a flush on the other man’s cheeks, both sets. He also noticed the thick vest he was wearing over his leather armor. “How are you faring, Zev, Ferelden is much colder than Antiva. I don’t recall any place in Antiva cold enough for snow.”

 

“Tis true that I am unaccustomed to the cold. Alone in my tent I imagine the hot sun of Antiva, a lover’s embrace as we lay on the warm sand. Of course if you were to join me, my dear Warden, we could surely keep warm together,” he purred suggestively. He was rewarded with a wicked smile and flame lighting in Blake’s eyes. That flame promised a lot of heat if the Warden would only act. He moved closer to Blake, pleased with the progress he was making. A disruption on the other side of camp caught their attention. “The pocket goddess seems to have embraced the snow,” Zevran commented upon seeing Jannasilane covered in snow which had fallen from the branch above her.

 

“Funny how only one branch seems to be empty of snow, and emptied itself right when Package was standing underneath,” Blake commented with an amused expression. He nudged Zevran and pointed to Alistair. The templar had a pleased expression on his face which he tried to remove when he looked at Jannasilane. “Looks like Alistair got his payback,” Blake murmured.

 

“Oh? Payback for what, my mighty Warden?” Zevran asked. “She looks quite attractive covered in snow; she would look even more attractive if snow was her only covering.”

 

Blake looked sideways at Zevran and smiled at the image of Package dressed only in snow, “True, she wouldn’t just be your pocket goddess she would be your pocket snow goddess. You should have seen Alistair’s face when she pelted him with a snowball earlier. He came out of the tent and wham! a face full of snow,” he chuckled at the memory. He kept his eyes on Package. He grinned when she shook the snow off of her, rather like General Lee shook himself after getting wet.

 

Zevran misinterpreted his expression as one of lust. He looked again at the pocket goddess and couldn’t blame the Warden. He easily imagined her nipples were standing erect from the cold and her skin had a rosy hue. He daydreamed for a moment of the two of them in his tent while he took his time warming her, causing her to shiver from something other than cold. He added the Warden to the other side of her, the two of them exchanging kisses over her magnificent bosom between sucking on her nipples and fondling her. He sighed, the Warden might be willing but he suspected she was not. Somehow he had to break or redirect the attraction the Warden felt for the pocket goddess. He could try seducing her himself, remembering how she seemed to enjoy his ‘medicinal’ kiss at the Circle he thought seducing her was not out of question. He could also help cement the relationship between Alistair and her. Blake had integrity and he wouldn’t trespass on a friend or comrade. He would have to be subtle, the templar didn’t trust him. He mulled over various plans as they continued on their way to Soldier’s Peak.

 

He had an opportunity later that day when Jannasilane joined him on the trail. “You look quite flushed, my little pocket goddess. Perhaps you should let your templar warm you after your bout in the snow. You have the most delightful bumps of geese on your golden flesh,” and he trailed his fingers along her arm, tracing the line of goose bumps and causing her to shiver.

 

Jannasilane blushed prettily, “You saw that? Alistair is more devious than I thought. I’ll have to remember that.” She thought about his warming her and blushed down to her toes. Remembering other things the Antivan said to her caused her to turn bright red and look away from him. The last several days with Alistair gave her a better understanding of what he meant. Inwardly she cringed as she recalled some of her replies.

 

“What causes you to turn to flame, not that it doesn’t look quite attractive?” Zevran asked curiously.

 

She blurted out, “N-nothing,” and scurried away until she recovered her composure. Zevran raised an eyebrow and stared after her.

 

Alistair came up to him, “What did you say to her?” he demanded.

 

Zevran looked at him in all innocence, “I thought she looked cold and suggested you could warm her. Wrap your arms around her, perhaps. Did I do something wrong?” Alistair might have growled but left him to go to Jannasilane. Zevran smiled to himself when he saw the two of them holding hands.


	16. Surprises at Soldier's Peak

They met Levi a few days later. He led the way through forgotten trails and tunnels; the going was steep and the ground uneven. After some wrong turns they finally reached broken steps leading to Soldier’s Peak. The fortress was visible from where they stood, but still some distance away. Levi turned towards Blake, “See Warden? I told you I would get you here. Isn’t she something?”

 

“Looks like it’s seen better days, better centuries even,” Alistair quipped though in truth he was a bit awed.

 

“To think how the Grey Wardens once flourished and people were waiting to join their ranks. Now they even accept such as you, Alistair,” Morrigan couldn’t help snidely remarking. With some effort he ignored her except for a disgruntled huff.

 

Blake looked at the towers standing battered and proud against the wintry sky, “She’s impressive, that’s for sure.” He raised an eyebrow at the merchant, “How did you find this place? Admit it; you were lost at least once coming through those tunnels.”

 

Levi stuttered and then flushed uncomfortably, “You wouldn’t believe me, but the path came to me in my dreams. They began when I was a boy. I began piecing them together until I had a complete map and eventually talked to Duncan about it. I reckon he knew enough to realize I had something.”

 

Jannasilane was a few steps away, looking up at the fortress and rubbing her arms. She shivered. Wynne joined her, “Child, I knew you must be cold. I’m quite cold looking at you. There must be something we can do for you.”

 

She looked up at the woman and shook her head. “I’m not cold. Soldier’s Peak, there’s something . . . I don’t know. I just know it makes my skin tingle even from here.”

 

“Well, your instincts certainly helped us at the Circle. We would have had much more trouble without you and Alistair, you work well together.” Wynne was troubled by the relationship developing between the young woman and the two Wardens but decided not to say anything just yet. Now was certainly not the time. She tried to feel ahead, and got a sense of something not right but nothing specific. She suspected the Veil was thin and if that was the case they would all know soon enough. 

 

Alistair joined them, “Shall we go reclaim a fortress, ladies?” He looked down at her and frowned, “What’s wrong?”

 

Jannasilane didn’t look at him, she kept her attention focused on what lay before them, “I do not know, Ali, I know only that I tingle all over.”

 

The templar bit his lip and briefly closed his eyes, _“Maker help me, is it her choice of words or my own dirty mind that takes what she says and puts a sexual twist on it? Maybe I’ve been spending too much time listening to that smarmy Antivan.”_ Fortunately for him Jannasilane thought he was trying to get a sense of what might be waiting for them. Blake and Zevran were behind them; they exchanged glances and grinned. On this they were of one mind and it had nothing to do with the Veil or demons. Alistair cleared his throat and answered her, his voice gruff, “Well, we’ll take special care just as we did at the Circle. I’ll tell Morrigan.” He figured talking to the nasty b-witch would be as good as a cold shower.

 

At the end of the day they regrouped in the courtyard. It was cold but refreshing after all the demons they found inside. Alistair and Jannasilane approached Blake where he was talking to Levi. “I’m sorry we didn’t find anything you could use to clear your name, Levi. You’re a good man, perhaps it’s time to look to the future instead of the past.”

 

“That Avernus deserves the gallows, if you ask me,” Levi replied. “But I suppose people will do queer things to survive. I’ve been thinking, Warden, that now you’ve cleared out all the demons this might be a good base for my family. It’ll be a safe place to store our merchandise and we could provide you with goods at a discount. My brother Mikhael is one of the finest blacksmiths you’ll ever find. We can act as caretakers and have Soldier’s Peak ready for you whenever you decide to move in. There’s lots of room.”

 

“I’ll make sure Avernus leaves you alone. At least he’s agreed to continue his research without the blood magic. I’m not sure which was more surprising, finding Sophia possessed by a demon or the old mage still alive and working,” Blake shook his head in disbelief. “It’d be nice to see the Peak ready for business. The Wardens will need a place of our own.”

 

Alistair quipped, “Demons abolished, a Grey Warden base reclaimed, we do good work.” Blake rolled his eyes at Alistair’s choice of words but didn’t disagree. “I’m glad you’re staying on, Levi. If you’ll excuse us . . . Blake, I think the three of us should take another look inside. Jannasilane wants me to do some cleansing and we still need to take a look at the library as well as the study, see if there’s any useful information.” Alistair could have added, _“and find out what’s bothering Janna. She’s unusually edgy.”_ The three of them left.

 

Blake told the others to go ahead and set up camp as they passed them to enter the Peak. “With your ability to sense magic I’m surprised the templars haven’t swooped down and taken you away. I’m sure they would find you quite _useful_ ,” Morrigan snarled.

 

“They wouldn’t do that, would they, Ali?” she looked at Alistair with a touch of fear darkening her eyes once they were out of earshot.

 

_“Damn that Morrigan, it wouldn’t happen in Ferelden but other places, other groups. . .”_ Alistair thought to himself before he answered. He tried to be as reassuring as possible, “They don’t even _have_ the authority to take anybody just because they might be useful. I have heard that some places are harsher against mages and more zealous in their pursuit of apostates but I doubt they would kidnap you. They already assume that apostates are maleficarum unless proven otherwise and they wouldn’t take your word on the subject. Morrigan just wanted to make trouble. Again.” He snorted in disgust. He wished there were some way to put a muzzle on that vicious mouth. 

 

Jannasilane looked at him thoughtfully, “What you do not say is that perhaps others would.” She frowned and then shrugged. That possibility seemed too remote for her to worry about. Once they were in the library they began sorting through the various books. Alistair built up a fire so they could be comfortable and Jannasilane began moving some furniture around. Blake kept an eye on her while he started flipping through the old books. Alistair was also watching her in concern.

 

When she locked the door and began moving some chairs even closer to the fire and away from any doors and windows he finally stopped her. He put his hands on her shoulders and physically restrained her from moving, “Package, you’re as nervous as a cat walking over hot coals. Morrigan was just trying to annoy you,” he looked into her eyes trying to gauge her mood.

 

“Do you remember the Litany of Adralla?” Nothing she said could have surprised the two men more. “I do not trust this Avernus. There is something I must tell you but it is not something which I wish to become known to all. If you will continue to repeat the Litany and Alistair, if you will keep a constant cleansing I will explain. That should be enough to prevent Morrigan or Avernus from overhearing.”

 

“Janna, you’re scaring me. If it will make you feel more comfortable I will do a cleansing as often as possible,” Alistair tried to calm her but he was now almost as nervous as she was. Blake was frowning as he made her sit down. He and Alistair sat in front of her and waited.

 

She took some time opening her back and pulling out an old journal, smoothing the cover and gathering her thoughts. Carefully she returned it and curled her legs underneath her and leaned back against the chair.  She took a deep breath before she looked up at them, her eyes full of mystery and caution. “My line has been,” she paused, searching for the right word. “My line has been entwined with the Wardens for generations.” She tilted her head so her hair half hid her face. “What do you know about the fate of the griffons?”

 

The crackling of the flames was the only sound in the library.


	17. Alenahaella Moritanae

“Alenahaella Moritanae.” Her voice sounded softly after some moments, barely heard over the fire. “Alenahaella Moritanae, those who ride the wind, whose voices spell doom to the blighted wretches. Griffonsong for short.” Alistair had the fanciful thought that he could see threads of mystery, myth and history weaving around her. “The sound of their wings as they flew through the air brought hope to the hearts of men while their battle cry brought even ogres to their knees. There are no records showing where they came from, but then that was long before Weisshaupt Fortress. They were independent, intelligent creatures dedicated to fighting the darkspawn and this shared purpose formed a strong bond between them and the Grey Wardens. Over the years the griffons became established in the Anderfels above the fortress of the Wardens and thrived.”

 

“Alenahaella, that’s your family name,” Alistair interjected.

 

Blake was intrigued, “So what happened to them?”

 

“The Wardens did not have access to the aeries. The sides of the mountains were steep and reached high, too high for men to breathe in comfort or for long. The range was wide and deep. They were safe from predators and other enemies for centuries. Towards the end of the last Blight the Wardens noticed that some days a griffon appeared to be missing. This pattern continued even after the Archdemon was defeated. Some Wardens were flown to the empty aerie. There was a slight smell of darkspawn and an indication that the rear wall of the cave had been recently breached and blocked.” Jannasilane watched them quietly. So far they seemed accepting of what she was telling them.

 

Blake and Alistair looked at each other then back at her. “Why didn’t the Wardens sense the darkspawn?”

 

“Just because the aeries were above Weisshaupt doesn’t mean they were close. What they finally determined was that the darkspawn had tunneled up from below or the other side of the mountains at the behest of the Archdemon. Darkspawn are capable of being singularly focused during a Blight when under the control of an Archdemon, as you know. What puzzled the Wardens investigating the disappearances was that they continued long after the darkspawn should have been gone.”

 

“Did they ever figure it out?”

 

“The best explanation they had was that one of the more intelligent darkspawn, a general, was in charge. That and being close enough to sense one of their sworn enemies was enough to keep them working.”

 

Alistair was already shaking his head, “No, from what I know and have seen, what the other Wardens told me, that is just not possible. Even if they kept after the griffons they couldn’t have kept up the organization.”

 

“Well, the First Warden did send a group to find where the darkspawn were coming from but that could take months or even years. I do not know if they were successful. And just before Ayesleigh there were rumors of an unusually intelligent emissary, one that could talk, but they were never proved or disproved.”

 

“That would be . . . scary, really scary; scarier than ten Morrigans.” Alistair went on to explain, “They’re bad enough without a Blight, numerous and vicious. During a Blight the Archdemon is able to provide intelligence and a purpose which makes them even tougher and stronger. If a darkspawn were intelligent enough to be able to direct them without an Archdemon I don’t know if the Wardens would be enough . . .” his voice trailed off as he contemplated just how bad that could be.

 

Blake wanted to know what other actions were taken. “At that time there were many mages among the ranks of the Grey Wardens,” Jannasilane stated. “Among them were some blood mages, some shape shifters like Morrigan and others who had extensive knowledge of ancient magic. They formed a plan and took it to the First Warden. He agreed, but insisted it must be kept secret even from the other Wardens. The condition of the griffons was more dire than most knew. The depredations of the darkspawn literally unearthed a rare mushroom which turned out to be toxic to the griffons. Dust filtered down and griffons in lower aeries eventually became ill and this sickness spread. It was very slow but inevitably fatal. Other mages worked openly to find a cure while the small group I mentioned worked secretly in a nearby cave.”

 

“What was their plan?” Alistair asked.

 

Jannasilane looked at him and then Blake before she replied. “They believed the end of the griffons was inevitable. The end of them as they were. The toxin did not affect humans. They hoped to, to combine humans and griffons. If that didn’t work, which it did not, they would come up with a method to transfer the essence of the griffons into select humans which would be inherited through the generations.”

 

The big blond was skeptical, “To what purpose? And why not dwarves or elves? Wouldn’t the griffon have to die in order for this to even be possible?”

 

“Yes, this is why their efforts were kept secret. The other Wardens would not react well to the planned deaths of the beloved griffons by some of their own. Dwarves and elves were not meant to be permanently excluded, but they felt humans were the best candidates. Dwarves have a natural resistance to magic which would have to be overcome and humans seemed to interact better with the griffons, rather like the Dalish with the Halla, so the, ummm, the -”

 

“Why not just call them the Griffon Group?” Alistair suggested.

 

Jannasilane smiled slightly at that, “Yes, the Griffon Group elected to start with humans. More humans than elves or dwarves were among the recruits anyway. They hoped that somehow the traits of the griffon would offset the disadvantages suffered by Wardens if they survived the Joining.” She kind of snickered at their surprised expressions, “Did you really think I would know this much and somehow not know about the Joining?” She quickly sobered and her face was shadowed with sorrow as she looked at them, “Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn, are needed to kill an Archdemon and have greatly increased stamina and ability to heal. I also know the price you pay, the nightmares, a shorter lifespan and an inability to have children. Or at least a greatly decreased possibility of children.”

 

“Is that true, Alistair? Not that I would be likely to have children anyway,” Blake questioned.

 

Alistair slowly nodded his head, “The only Grey Wardens I knew of who had children had them before their Joining. I don’t know of any who had children afterwards, even if it was advisable.”

 

“Did you know griffons could also sense darkspawn? Not like the Wardens can, it was more like a highly developed instinct. A typical griffon lived longer than a healthy human and was able to reproduce quite easily most of its life. They hoped that these traits would pass down to the children, and if they connected with a Warden the chance of a child from the match would be greater. That this child would be able to sense darkspawn as naturally as a griffon, and be a new type of Warden. They wouldn’t know until the next Blight if they could kill the Archdemon but the chance to increase their ranks without all the deaths from failed Joinings was quite attractive.” Remembering the deaths at their own Joinings made it easy for both men to see how tempting that might be.

 

“Did they also hope these people would be able to shape shift into griffons? You said some of the mages were shape shifters and nice as those other traits are I wouldn’t think they’d be enough to justify the experiment,” Blake was thinking about the possible repercussions. Looking at Alistair he wondered if the templar was having similar thoughts.

 

Jannasilane agreed, “That was a hope; that these people, who came to be called the Griffonsong, would be able to shape shift and that their children would either be Griffonsong or, if the other parent was a Warden, a natural Warden. Their first attempts to create the Griffonsong were with those who survived a Joining and were no more than a year into their Wardenship. Griffons and Wardens all died quickly and horribly. Then they turned to those who had yet to Join. Many still died but they were more successful, especially among the mages and the women.” A hint of bitterness entered her voice then, “yes, they were more successful with the women. They did things to encourage a Griffonsong/Warden pairing.” She stopped speaking then. The next part would be the hardest and she needed to give herself a little more time.

 

Once again the crackling of the fire and the dropping of embers were the only sounds in the room. Alistair got up and wandered over to the window, thinking. He did another cleansing while he noted that all their companions were busy outside burning corpses. Blake was watching Package in concern. She’d withdrawn into herself, her head rested on her pulled up knees and her hands gripped each other in front of her legs. Her hair hid her face from his view. She seemed to be protecting herself. When Alistair sat back down he also seemed a bit withdrawn but he was the one who asked the next question, “How did they hope to ‘encourage’ a Griffonsong/Warden pairing?”

 

At first they weren’t sure she was going to answer. “You asked how they could encourage the desired connection. Partly they relied on proximity. It was years, decades even before their first successes. Secreted away as the Griffonsong were their only contact was with others of their kind and Grey Wardens. And the Griffon Group was mostly mages. There existed already a bond between Wardens and griffons formed by their shared purpose. This they could strengthen. They also did something so that Grey Wardens would find a Griffonsong more attractive than normally and that the Griffonsong would generally find Wardens attractive. Perhaps something involving the taint in the Wardens? They were successful in ways they didn’t imagine. They did not tamper with the Warden Joining ritual, so all they could do was make the Griffonsong seem more attractive.  If a Warden did not find a particular Griffonsong attractive they still wouldn’t. But if a Warden found green eyes, dark hair and a slender figure attractive that attraction would be enhanced if that person were Griffonsong.” Blake could feel Alistair relaxing a little bit at his side.

 

“The Griffonsong, on the other hand, were, I do not know how to say this; they were imbued with an enhanced inclination to find Grey Wardens s-sexually attractive and to respond to their attentions. All the original Griffonsong were adults between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. All felt an increased desire in the company of the Wardens.” Jannasilane’s toes were curled and her face was redder than the fire from talking about such intimate details.

 

“I wonder if that’s why we don’t have nightmares when we sleep next to you. Is it possible that the magic performed on your ancestors is what makes you more sensitive to certain types of magic today?” Blake asked after several minutes. Alistair stirred next to him and continued staring at Jannasilane but did not speak.

 

“I do not know, perhaps.”

 

Finally Alistair spoke, his expression unreadable in the dim light, “How do you know that these past few weeks hasn’t been the result of this, I dunno, this artificial attraction? And why didn’t you say something before?”

 

Blake looked at Alistair then, he thought about what the other man must be feeling. This conversation was obviously difficult for Package, but it couldn’t be easy for Alistair either. He returned his attention to Package and knelt by her chair so he could see her face. Her pain was clear to him and he stroked her hair, “I’m sorry, Package. This isn’t easy for you and we can talk some more later. I think right now I should leave you two alone. I promise you I will not tell anyone.” He stood and kissed the top of her head before he went to the door. He looked back at his two friends in concern, but there was nothing he could do. What he could do was make sure the tent was set up in case any of them actually felt like sleeping later. 

 

Alistair repeated his questions. She looked at him then and swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, “When we first met I thought how fortunate it was that I met two Grey Wardens who were both handsome and seemed kind. It was only to you that I felt pulled, that I wanted to touch and not because you are a Warden. Blake is my friend, and an attractive man. This is truth. Zevran is an attractive man. This is also truth. But you are the one I wish to be with, to share myself with. It is your touch and your kisses I seek, not theirs. This is all truth, Ali.” She bowed her head then, “I could not tell you before we . . . it just was not possible. I told you as much as I was able. Afterwards, I suppose I wanted to pretend for a few days that I was just a girl like any other. That I was normal. Then I waited until I was sure none would hear. This is not something I wish others to know.”

 

“I can see that,” Alistair said quietly. Too many thoughts and feelings were circling in his mind for him to even begin to know how he felt. He felt numbed and it was with great effort he was able to speak, “So, can you turn into a griffon?” It was the safest thing he could think of to say at the moment.

 

“No. I know of none who have changed and my parents knew of none who changed. I do not know if it will be possible,” she answered him. _“I can sense your confusion and distrust, my Ali. I fear what this might mean.”_ She felt like crying but it wouldn’t help. “Do you wish me to leave, Alistair?” she asked so softly he almost didn’t hear her.

 

“What? No!” That was something he did know. “Look, why don’t you go join Blake and the others. There are a lot of books here to search. I can do that and think about . . . things.” He tried to smile reassuringly but could tell it wasn’t working. Jannasilane didn’t say anything else; she just left him there alone. The minute she shut the door behind her he sat down with a groan and put his head in his hands.

 

Blake found him there hours later. Package had gone into their tent without dinner, saying she was tired. He supposed that was true but not all the truth. He could hear her trying to stifle her tears. Looking at Alistair he wondered if the other man felt like crying. “Anything interesting?” he asked as he looked at the pile of books obviously not examined.

 

“Huh? Oh . . . do you think she was telling the truth?” Alistair wanted to know what Blake thought. Maybe it would help him figure out his own feelings.

 

He sat down, “I admit I was surprised. I mean, a griffon? I can understand why she didn’t tell us from the beginning, neither of us would have believed her then. Package is a woman of more mystery than I expected but she isn’t lying. I don’t know if she told us everything, but that doesn’t make her a liar. Maybe it’s like Leliana’s vision. I believe Leliana believes she had a vision from the Maker. I think Package believes everything she told us and at least some of it might be true. Certainly that’s a reasonable theory for the disappearance of the griffons. The rest, well it explains some things about her but that’s not conclusive. I just don’t know.”

 

“What about the whole s-s-exual a-at-traction thing? You said from the beginning that you found her incredibly sexy. What if what we’ve had, my feelings aren’t really my feelings but some sort of . . . illusion?”

 

“She’s a very sexy woman, Alistair. You can hardly deny that. If you think her sexiness is because of some magic trick just look at Zevran. He’d be all over her faster than General Lee can eat a mabari crunch if she gave him just a hint of interest. She never said that the Warden would have feelings for a Griffonsong, just that any natural attraction would be enhanced. Or is that what you’re really worried about?”

 

Alistair groaned, “What if what she feels for me she really doesn’t?”

 

Blake took a second to decipher Alistair’s question, “I think she knows what she feels better than you know what you feel, my friend. You need to look within yourself and talk to her for those sorts of answers.”

 

“I don’t know. Right now, I just don’t know,” Alistair replied in defeat. There was really nothing else to be said. He started looking at the books and sorting them into two piles. Blake quietly joined him.


	18. Confessions of a Griffonsong

**Confessions of a Griffonsong**

 

When Jannasilane woke up the next morning she was alone in her tent. She’d slept only fitfully and was exhausted. She sighed as she looked at the two empty spaces on either side of her. She missed the presence of ‘her’ Wardens as she had come to think of them. She got dressed and crawled out of the tent, hoping somebody had already made coffee. She smiled when she saw Zevran, the Antivan always looked so put together and he made wonderful coffee. “Morning, Zevran, I was hoping somebody else was up and could make some coffee. I fear I am much better at cleaning the pots than filling them with anything worth tasting.” She tilted her head and considered the aromatic brew in the cup he handed to her, “It’s strange, I can make potions, poultices and poisons yet when it comes to simple cooking only Alistair seems to enjoy it. This is not saying much since I have seen him eat food that is practically coal. Come to think of it, it might have been coal.”

 

“You have your talents; oh pocket goddess, as do we all. I would not be Antivan if I did not know how to brew proper coffee,” Zevran continued to make idle chatter while Jannasilane sipped her coffee. It was obvious to him that she had not slept well. Nor did it escape his notice that neither of the Wardens had joined her. When they heard Morrigan Jannasilane quickly retrieved two more mugs and filled them with coffee, muttering something about refreshments for the Wardens before scurrying off. Zevran watched her go, enjoying the swing of her hips as he pondered.

 

Jannasilane entered the library tentatively and then smiled. Her two fierce Wardens were asleep, Alistair was face down on a table, presumably on top of a dusty tome, and Blake’s head was tilted against the back of his chair and he was lightly snoring. She went to him first and touched his shoulder. He immediately opened his eyes and sniffed appreciatively when she handed him the coffee. She knew Alistair was not always as easy to wake so she put the other mug on the table out of his reach before gently shaking him, “Ali, Alistair, it is morning.” He grunted sleepily and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her breasts and fondling her rear. Blake smiled in amusement while Package flushed with embarrassment and tried to get the warrior to wake up.

 

The minute he did so he sat straight up and dropped his arms from her. He looked at her when she handed him the coffee but she couldn’t read his expression. “Thank you,” was all he said. She couldn’t quite keep the hurt from showing on her face when she stepped away from him. He turned to Blake, “there aren’t many more books to look at, if you don’t mind a slight delay I’d like to finish going through them before we go.”

 

Blake felt like kicking him but decided that at least for now he wouldn’t say anything. “Fine, Alistair. Might as well since we’re here. Package, let’s you and I pay a quick visit to Avernus. I want him to know that the Drydens will be working at the Peak. We don’t want any unfortunate incidents,” he smiled down at her, keeping his thoughts to himself. Once the door was closed and they were away from the library he stopped her, “I know it’s none of my business but give him some time to think about everything.”

 

She looked at him, the hurt still lurking deep behind her eyes, “And what about you? Do _you_ want me to leave? Do you even believe me?”

 

Blake debated what to tell her and finally opted for the complete truth, “Your revelations were surprising, to say the least. I am willing to believe it’s possible. You’re not crazy and you believe. The griffons are gone and your explanation at least makes sense. I can accept that the Grey Wardens were desperate to save the griffons and might have turned to unusual solutions. Your ability to heal more quickly than other non-Wardens and your stamina you might have gotten from Duncan. Even your ability to sense darkspawn and Grey Wardens might be because a Grey Warden is your father. But there is no way that directed screech of yours came from him. I’ve never even heard of that before. Either that is just an unusual ability you have or you inherited it. Whether you are descended from some combination of human and griffon I don’t know. I don’t disbelieve, I just don’t know.”

 

 “Do you wish for me to go?” she asked in a small voice.

 

“No, Package, not unless you want to leave. I like having you around and you are certainly fierce when we fight darkspawn. Although I am wondering if I should feel insulted that you do not find me attractive,” he quipped in an attempt to lighten her mood.

 

She smiled up at him, “I appreciate your honesty, Blake. I do not believe I said I found you unattractive.” She laughed when he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

 

Alistair watched them leave the library. He knew he’d been rude but it had taken all his willpower to not kiss her as he usually did. After that first night the physical side of their relationship had been nothing short of remarkable. Thinking of Blake watching while he manhandled her before he was fully awake caused him to blush in shame. _“Maker, I might have taken her right here on the table before I was fully awake if she hadn’t stopped me.”_ The images he conjured caused him to swell uncomfortably in his armor. _“Maker help me, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”_ He picked up a book, hoping it would stop him thinking about what she said. Unlike Blake, he believed everything she told them. That was the problem.

 

  Avernus was actually pleased that a merchant would be at Soldier’s Peak. He said it would a lot easier for him to conduct his research now that he could more easily get supplies. “You don’t care for Avernus, why? Is there something I should know? Other than the blood magic, demons and experimenting on the Wardens,” Blake asked as they were returning from the old mage’s tower.

 

“He looks at me as if he suspects something is different about me. He is old enough to have possibly known something about the Griffons. I do not know if he can sense anything but he is not someone I would trust with such information. The Griffonsong were not always, hmm, happy while in Weisshaupt.” Jannasilane didn’t say anymore as they moved through the fortress and rejoined the others. She busied herself helping to breakdown their tent and packing up.

 

When Alistair rejoined them a short time later he was carrying a new sword he had found but shook his head when Blake asked if there was any useful information. “I found this, some interesting histories and correspondence but no information that could help us right now. I’m happy we’ve got a base and that it won’t be crawling with any more demons or undead.” He shrugged, “I wish there was something about the Archdemon but maybe no news is good news.”

 

“So we don’t have to dance the Remigold? That’s good to know, the possibility was keeping me up nights,” Blake replied with a straight face. Alistair laughed at the reminder while the others looked bewildered, except for Morrigan who curled her lip and muttered something about ‘Wardens’ and ‘idiots.’

 

They were well on their way before Jannasilane had a moment with Alistair. He hadn’t been avoiding her but he hadn’t taken advantages of opportunities to seek her out as he usually did. He didn’t know what to say to her so didn’t say anything. Jannasilane finally broke the awkward silence between them, “Are you alright, Alistair? You’ve been rather quiet.”

 

He looked at her then away, clearing his throat, “I’m fine. I’ve just been thinking about . . . things.”

 

“No wonder she thought something was wrong,” Morrigan couldn’t help remarking. ”How many years has it been since you could claim you were ‘just thinking?’ Perhaps the old healer should check you over.”

 

“Still haven’t found a bush to crawl in, I see,” Alistair growled. Morrigan just smiled catlike and moved away. If she had wanted to keep them from talking she couldn’t have done better. Eventually Jannasilane moved ahead to help Blake scout the way ahead. _“Handled that with my usual brilliance. Then again, maybe it’s just as well since I don’t know what to say.”_ He brooded the rest of the day and darted glances at her.  A lifetime of belittlement and self-doubt was undermining the confidence which had been slowly growing since his conscription into the Grey Wardens.

 

That night when they retired Blake was reminded of the number of times Elissa used to cry on his shoulder and wanting him to fix what was wrong. Whenever she got in an argument she used to confide in him. When one of her father’s squires kissed her she talked to him about what she should do. She even asked him once to practice dancing with her so she didn’t embarrass herself the first time she was allowed to go to Denerim with her parents during the Landsmeet. Many of the nobles took advantage of the time to have parties and socialize with their colleagues from other parts of Ferelden. Package looked so unhappy that he wanted to make her  
smile just like he used to make his sister smile, but there wasn’t much he could do. “You fell asleep when I was telling you about Hohaku before, do you want me to finish?”

 

Jannasilane smiled a little. She snuggled into her bedroll and faced him, “the chief planned to choose Hohaku over his brothers and sisters because he was the biggest, strongest and smartest. If he was smarter than General Lee then he must have driven the villagers crazy.”

 

Blake smirked, “no mabari is smarter than General Lee. Hohaku’s problem wasn’t that he was smart. His problem was that he was proud and arrogant. He thought having the chief’s favor meant he could lord it over the other mabari. He took their food and generally bullied them. He not only bullied the other mabari he bullied the villagers. They complained to the chief but he did nothing to Hohaku. He said it meant Hohaku was strong and confident. He did keep watch, however. After all, this dog was going to guard his son and be his companion. The months and years passed and it was time to choose a mabari for his son and heir. At the choosing ceremony Hohaku sat proud and tall. He had no doubt of the outcome. When the chief chose one of his brothers instead Hohaku was furious. How dare he! He lunged forward and bit the chief before he ran away in shame. He ran down the mountain to the village. Every time he tried to find a place to rest he was chased away until he was alone in the wilderness. He was never heard from again.”

 

She snickered, “Morrigan would never run away, she would probably turn them all into toads so she could squash them.”

 

“Ha, you might be right. We probably shouldn’t tell her you compared her to a mabari or she’ll do the same to us. Good night, Package,” and smiled when she kissed him on the cheek before settling back into her bedroll.

 

When Alistair came into the tent after his turn at watch he couldn’t help noticing that Jannasilane was facing towards Blake and had left as much space for Alistair as possible. He wanted so much to just pull her against him and hold her tight but he resisted the urge. It wouldn’t be fair to her while he was so confused. She deserved more than that. He turned away from her and it was a long time before he could get to sleep.

 

Morning came and when he opened his eyes Jannasilane was propped on her side, watching him. He hated seeing the sadness in her eyes and knowing he was the cause. “If you find Blake attractive, why are you with me?” he blurted out.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him, temper beginning to build, “Blake is a friend and yes, I find him attractive. Are you saying I _should_ be with him instead of you? Is that the only reason we have been together, because you find my body attractive? Perhaps I should go get him. If that is all then why have you not been with a woman before me? Surely you found others to be desirable.”

 

“Oh Maker, I knew I would mess this up. Look, I know I’m not the handsomest guy on Thedas and that Blake is very good looking, judging by the women flirting with him at Ostagar and Lothering and Denerim. I’m glad we’re friends and I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted more than to scratch an itch.” He sat up then and took her hands in his. He concentrated on them, turning them over and marveling at how something so small could be so deadly against darkspawn yet so tender or sexy when they were together. “I guess I never understood why you would prefer me over him, he has so much more to offer. It made sense when you spoke about . . . you know, the attraction.” He didn’t dare look at her. “I won’t lie, I have found other women attractive, but none like you. I keep thinking it’s not real, that one day you’ll wake up and your eyes will be open to who I really am, an awkward fool who makes bad jokes.”

 

She slapped him. Startled, his jaw dropped and he stared at her. She slapped him again, “Do you think I am so young and stupid that I do not know the difference between noticing that a man is attractive and finding somebody I want to, to be with, to share myself with?” A light blush overlay the red of temper in her cheeks. “Oh, Ali,” tenderly she kissed the cheeks she had just slapped, “when I met you I thought how handsome you both were, but you were so much more. You were so warm, your hair, your eyes which shone with heat and kindness, your smile. I was drawn to you as a flower to the sun. To you, not Blake. I like your sense of humor, the way you care about others. I find it hard to believe that you do not know how good-looking you are, do you never look in the mirror?”

 

He put his hand to his cheek, “At least I know I’m awake.” He shook his head ruefully.

 

“Does this mean I should slap you every morning?” she snickered.

 

“You are a wicked, wicked woman,” he muttered and kissed her thoroughly.

 

Jannasilane allowed herself to revel in his kisses for a few minutes before disentangling herself. There was more she should tell him before they went any farther. “Alistair, I like you and I enjoy being with you. But there is more you should know about the Griffonsong, something I could not say in that cold Tower,” she spoke very softly so none could hear outside the tent.

 

His desire wilted as dread possessed him. He sat there and waited for her to speak.

 

“I told you how my ancestors were ‘encouraged’ to be attracted to Grey Wardens. The results of the magic performed were uneven. Many experienced no more than I told you and can live normal lives. For some this attraction became a compulsion t-to mate, a c-com-p-pulsion so strong that a Warden, any Warden, could do absolutely anything and the Griffonsong would not complain.” Jannasilane didn’t bother disguising her bitterness, “if their need was not met they could go mad. They might even hurt themselves in an effort to find relief, no matter how temporary. Some stories say suicide was not uncommon.”

 

Alistair paled and looked sick, “But it’s not like that for you. Why are you telling me?”

 

“I am afraid, Alistair. Those were grown men and women, but the enhanced attraction is hereditary as well as the possibility of more.” Jannasilane hugged herself and wouldn’t look at him, “We call it the Time of Becoming, the time when, as an adult, this attraction will come into being. I am seventeen now. Eighteen seems to be the normal age for this to occur, but it can vary a year or two either way and lasts for approximately a dozen years. There is no way for me to know how strong my Time will be, if I will have the need. I cannot imagine being more attracted to you than I am already, Alistair. I hope that all I feel is more attraction to other Wardens. I do not want to become a mindless creature of want. I do not want to be with another. There are stories, horrible stories . . .” her voice trailed into silence. After a few minutes she spoke again, “this is why I cannot promise anything to another. Not until I know.”

 

“Y-you mean at some point you could w-want other m-men in your bed?” he whispered in a squeak. So many emotions came crowding down on him at one time he felt mauled. “No matter how much you might c-care for a p-person it might not be enough?”

 

“Need, not want, but yes.” Her hair hid her wince at ‘a person’, at the way he was distancing himself from her.

 

Images of her being with other men the way she had been with him started to pile up before his eyes. He saw himself being with her even as she beckoned to another. Without realizing it he started shaking his head, it was too much. “I don’t know if I can live with that,” he said so quietly she barely heard him.

 

She refused to let her tears fall. She knew from the beginning this was a possibility but she could not continue without letting him know what might happen. “I understand, Ali. I hope we can still be friends.” Quickly she got dressed and left him alone in the tent. 

Slowly, as if ill and perhaps he was, Alistair got dressed. For once he had no appetite and decided to go ahead and pack everything up.


	19. A King’s Man

The next few days merged one into the other. Alistair didn’t smile or joke as he usually did and Jannasilane spent much of her time beside Sten, one of two who wouldn’t try to speak to her. They were skirting the edges of Bann Loren’s lands when they heard a disturbance. Blake motioned for Alistair, Jannasilane, Zevran and General Lee to accompany him to investigate. The others were to remain behind.

 

Quietly they moved through the forest until they could look down into a small glade. Guards wearing the colors of Bann Loren were surrounding a man on the ground. When they shifted Blake recognized the man on the ground as one of Cailan’s honor guard. A short scuffle broke out and Loren’s men were easily dispatched. Blake knelt by the wounded man, “Sorry we didn’t get here sooner. What were they doing with you?”

 

 “I escaped from Loren’s dungeon. I recognize you; you were Duncan’s newest recruit. I was one of Cailan’s guards, Elric.” The man stopped speaking to catch his breath. When he could speak again, he wheezed out, “Maker has a sense of humor it seems, you being the one to find me. When I saw those monsters and Loghain gone, I panicked and ran. King Cailan was my friend and I left him behind.” Elric shook his head in shame and self-disgust. Blake didn’t say anything, just let the man talk. There was nothing else he could do for him or to him, he was dying. “Cailan gave me the key to his chest, to guard it.”

 

“The Royal Chest? Cailan kept his father’s sword in that chest, said he was going to use it to kill the Archdemon,” Alistair interjected. “Do you still have the key or is there somebody else we need to find?”

 

Elric grunted, “Was worried I might lose it so I hid it at camp, didn’t I?”

 

“Do you think the darkspawn found it?” Blake wanted to know.

 

“Could they work it if they did? It’s at the base of a statue. The chest also has important papers, correspondence between Cailan and Empress Celene. Warden, if you go you need to get back Cailan’s armor. Don’t let it be pawed over by those monsters.” Those were the last words Elric spoke.

 

“I’m going with you, I have a score to settle,” Alistair stated.

 

Jannasilane spoke up, “I too shall accompany you.” She couldn’t help wondering if they would find her father’s body or something that belonged to him.

 

Blake nodded in agreement. “Tomorrow we return to Ostagar.”

 

That night Alistair had a hard time getting to sleep after his watch was over. He kept thinking about Duncan and Cailan at Ostagar and what they might find. Blake went on watch before his body finally shut down. For the first time in a long time he had nightmares, only these weren’t dreams where he could hear the darkspawn. He saw Cailan and Duncan and the other Grey Wardens. Once again he saw Blake’s Joining. His imagination supplied him with images of Duncan and Cailan being torn apart. He rolled over and caught the scent of Jannasilane. In his nightmare it signaled the way out and he reached for it, for her.

 

Jannasilane’s sleep since Soldier’s Peak was not as restful as before. She missed being cuddled by Alistair and still hoped that maybe they could find their way back to the way things were. When he reached for her and pulled her against him she didn’t even think. Even half-asleep embracing him was as natural as breathing and she responded instantly to his bruising kiss.

 

Alistair was still caught in his dreams. No longer nightmares, instead he dreamt that he and Jannasilane were married and it was their wedding night. She was so beautiful. Eagerly he removed her clothes and his own before smothering her breasts with kisses. With one hand he reached between her legs and found her wet and ready, nearly as desperate for him as he was for her. Grinning against her stomach he kissed his way up her chest, shoulders and neck until he once more took possession of her mouth. “Janna,” he whispered and opened his eyes, _“Andraste’s breath, she’s so beautiful. I love seeing her like this, just for me.”_ For a brief second he thought he was still dreaming and then realized what he had done, and almost done, how he was using her without even realizing it. He closed his eyes again in shame and self-disgust. _“By the Maker, how can I ever call myself an honorable man again? I shouldn’t touch her if I don’t know if I can accept and live with what she told us, told me. She deserves so much more.”_ He couldn’t stifle a groan and Jannasilane’s eyes fluttered open in time to see his disgust. A cold arrow pierced her heart at his gruff words, “I’m sorry, this shouldn’t have happened,” and he rolled away from her, facing the wall of the tent. He heard her breathing heavily while she got dressed and left their tent. For the first time since he was a young templar recruit he could feel tears sliding down his face.

 

_“I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry,”_ she kept telling herself. She gulped in the night air and made her way to the fire. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Blake touched her arm.

 

“Are you alright, Package?” Blake asked softly, concerned. He wondered if she and Alistair had finally talked about what was bothering him.

 

She smiled tremulously. She did not realize the tears she refused to shed shone in the moonlight. “I am fine,” she lied. “I could not sleep so sought to sit by the fire.” She let him take her hand and get her settled, finding comfort in his presence.

 

Zevran saw them and his jaw tightened as he observed the tenderness Blake displayed. _“Braska, what has that stupid templar done?”_ He pasted a smile on his face and joined them. “A goddess blesses us with her presence.” He took her hand and bowed as he brought it to his lips. She flushed prettily; his attentions were a balm to her spirits after Alistair. Frustrated desire made her respond more than she might have otherwise.

 

Blake was amused, and a little bit jealous. He acknowledged to himself he had no right to be since he had so far refused to act on his attraction to Zevran. If a little flirtation helped make Package feel better he wasn’t going to say anything, although he did wonder what was going on between her and Alistair. At least they were trying to be discreet about their differences. “We’re not going to have the luxury of setting up camp for the night for much longer,” he said.

 

“No, we will be getting too close to many darkspawn,” Jannasilane agreed. Then she yawned. At Blake’s look she lifted her chin, “I am not tired,” she said stubbornly.

 

“Should you change your mind you can use my tent if you like. I will not need it since I am on watch with the Warden and it is closer,” he offered the lie with a charming smile.

 

Jannasilane recognized the lie but accepted the face-saving excuse. The strain of pretending nothing was wrong was getting to her and she wasn’t ready to face Alistair. “Perhaps you are right. Thank you, Zevran.” She left them and crawled into the Antivan’s tent. She took a moment to marvel at how neatly organized it was before she settled down. Once she relaxed she once again saw Alistair’s face filled with disgust. Her body still tingled with unfulfilled desire. Her thoughts chased each other on the ruins of unacknowledged dreams. Finally she slept.

 

After she was gone the two men remained silent. Finally Zevran spoke, cautiously, “You are quite fond of the pocket goddess, my dear Warden.”

 

“I suppose I am,” Blake replied absently, his eyes on the tent where she lay. “She’s a good friend; it’s odd how quickly that happened. I don’t usually feel close to somebody so quickly but we have a lot in common.” He thought of the night after the Fade, their shared grief created a bond between them, one that promised to be lifelong. He wondered what Alistair had done to put the hurt in her eyes, but he wasn’t going to pry. At least not yet. He shook his head, he wasn’t going to take sides but it was hard to see her hurting. He turned his attention back to the elf, “She was right about a lot of darkspawn. Not that I expected anything else. I doubt we have more than two nights before we stop setting up camp and just take brief rests. I can’t say I’m looking forward to going back to Ostagar, not yet.”

 

  Zevran’s ears perked up, _“Now this is interesting. The Warden has never shared more personal thoughts before; perhaps I am making more progress than I thought.”_ What was it like? I have heard the official version, and stories of course but they were all rather removed from the source.”

 

“I met Cailan a couple of times before Ostagar. He had a lot of charm, a bit like you but not as wicked. I got the impression he used that charm and general amiability as a shield, He was smart, I think a lot smarter than people gave him credit for.” Blake shrugged, “When I saw him at Ostagar he was very confident. He held the Grey Wardens in high regard and I think counted on their prowess more than was practical; though this might have been his way of keeping his troops confident. Alistair and I weren’t in the final battle.” Briefly he drew a diagram in the dirt to give Zevran a picture. “The plan was for the king’s army to draw the darkspawn in and then Loghain’s troops would come in from either side, trapping them. We were to light the beacon at the top of the Tower, signaling Loghain to move. He and Maric used this tactic very effectively in the war against the Orlesians.”

 

“Have you ever been in a war, Zevran?” Zevran shook his head. He could scarcely compare the rivalries, deadly as they were, between the Crow guild masters to a war. “We had to cross the bridge to get to the Tower. I took a moment for a look at the enemy. I will never forget the implacable river of torches marching against us. I couldn’t see the end of it. Nobody in their right mind could see that and not believe the threat was real. Alistair and I hurried to the Tower. There weren’t supposed to be any darkspawn but they must have tunneled up from underneath and we had to fight our way to the top. Any guards who survived fought along with us. I know we were late lighting the beacon, even without the darkspawn we needed to move. But we lit the beacon and I watched as Loghain turned away. He didn’t even make an attempt to save the king. Maybe I’m no great general, but from what I saw he could have cut a quick swathe through the darkspawn and rescued Cailan before retreating. The king’s army would have died anyway, but the king would have been alive and maybe the darkspawn disorganized enough that the slaughter would have been less. I think that’s what I can’t forgive him for, not that he made the decision to retreat but that he did so with no attempt to retrieve the king.”

 

“Kings die, nobles die,  
many die, my dear Warden,” Zevran said practically. “The Crows have been in business for many years because people want power and do not wish to wait for fate to favor them.”

 

“It shouldn’t be because he was betrayed by his general, his father’s best friend and his wife’s father,” Blake said hotly. “Loghain didn’t just betray the king, he betrayed Ferelden. He betrayed every man and woman fighting on that battlefield.” He rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. “Only Grey Wardens can end a Blight and now there are only two in the entire country. The rest died at Ostagar.” Dawn was starting to break. “We need to get a move on.” He busied himself making coffee, not wanting to talk any more.

 

Zevran watched him for a minute and then wandered over to his tent. He ducked inside and smiled at the sleeping vision before him. He lay down next to her and put his hand on her abdomen, though he itched to touch those magnificent breasts. He wanted her to slowly get used to his touch and did not want to frighten her away. If she went back to the templar, no harm done. If she did not then he would be in a better position to seduce her later if he decided it was necessary. He put his head next to her ear so that his lips just barely touched. “It is morning, Pocket Goddess, time for you to wake,” his lips and words caressed her and he noted with interest her body responding. She was a very sensual young woman. He kept a bland expression on his face as she slowly woke and turned to face him.

 

“Z-zev?” Jannasilane blinked slowly in confusion before she remembered. Zevran saw the sadness fill her eyes before she sat up and turned away from him. “Thank you for letting me use your tent.” He let his fingers walk up her back before laying a friendly hand on her shoulders. Silently he backed out of his tent and then reached his hand in to assist her.

 

At the same time Alistair came out of their tent and froze when he saw the two of them. It took him a minute to remember that Zevran would have been on watch with Blake and therefore nothing could have happened but he still didn’t like it. _“Not that I can blame her for not wanting to return to our tent after the way I treated her. Maker, how could I be such a selfish bastard?”_ He brooded for the rest of the day, only his training kept part of his mind alert and on the tasks at hand. When he caught himself watching Jannasilane he quickly averted his eyes.

 

Jannasilane wrapped her pride around her as much as possible. She avoided Alistair easily enough; he was avoiding her as well. She couldn’t help noticing that he looked away from her with a sense of shame or regret when he looked at her at all. Each time hurt. Fighting the darkspawn was a welcome relief. That night Blake and Alistair set up the tent without her help. As soon as it was up she went inside without speaking to either of them so she could arrange the bedrolls. She was taking no chances of the previous night repeating itself. No longer side by side, her bedroll was perpendicular to theirs with her head near Blake’s and she put the packs near her feet and Alistair’s head.

 

When the two Wardens entered the tent a short time later and noticed the new arrangement Blake whistled. “She is not happy with you, my friend. What did you do?”

 

Ashamed, Alistair blurted out, “I was dreaming and got carried away. I stopped as soon as I woke up, before things went . . .  but . . . this is probably for the best. I just hope she’ll forgive me. Eventually.”

 

When he and Package turned in for the night Blake took the opportunity to speak to her, “Package, Alistair told me what happened last night. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

 

Surprised and embarrassed Jannasilane turned bright red and couldn’t speak at first. Finally she stuttered, “N-not ph-physically if, if that is what you mean. I h-had hoped, but I guess, no, it is clear we are done. I knew that such m-might be the case when I told you, told him . . .” her voice trailed off into incoherence.

 

Blake hugged her and soothed her. There was really nothing for him to say. He wasn’t sure she was right but couldn’t argue the point either. That they were both miserable was the only thing he knew for sure. The rest was up to them and he would leave it alone as long as their problems with each other didn’t affect the group. “Well, at least this way you can ‘accidentally’ kick him in the head. Just don’t do it too hard,” he teased. She sniffed and snickered before crawling under her covers. “Goodnight, Package,” Blake said before getting into his own bedroll.

 

Jannasilane woke when Alistair came in after his watch was over but pretended to be asleep. She could sense him looking at her before lying down. He tossed and turned but eventually quieted into sleep. Only then was she able to drift back into dreams of what was not to be.


	20. At Least One Bad Decision

They were no longer setting up tents at night, for which Jannasilane was grateful. She hoped things would be easier between her and Alistair once they started again. In the days since ‘the incident’ as she thought of it, they pretty much avoided each other. She found comfort in Blake’s company and Leliana’s stories. Zevran spent more time with her as well and she had to admit she enjoyed his flirtation. She was too naïve to suspect he had an ulterior motive. She told herself she was coming to terms with not being with Alistair any longer, and only hoped he wouldn’t hold it against her if she needed him when her Time came. She deliberately ignored the effect even the most incidental touch still had on her.

 

Alistair didn’t like their separation and knew he was to blame. As many times as he thought to talk to her memories of his behavior stopped him. He was ashamed of how he acted and he still did not know if he could live with what might happen later. A small niggling doubt was festering, doubt that her feelings were real and not influenced by her ancestry. His insecurity and lack of self-confidence had him halfway convinced it was for the best. That they were no longer sharing a tent made it easier to accept the lies he was telling himself.

 

Blake had decided to approach Ostagar from the east. They’d been on the move for a few hours when Jannasilane stopped them. “Blake, I recognize this place. I would like to stop here for awhile, if it is fine with you. We are getting low on some of the health poultices and this is a good place to find the herbs we need. Many are near a pond over there,” she pointed to the west. “And many grow by a stream there,” this time she pointed to the southeast. “The way to the stream is trickier. Somebody could gather herbs by the pond and I can gather those by the stream.” Blake nodded his assent. They certainly weren’t likely to find much at Ostagar.

 

“You can’t go alone,” Alistair protested.

 

Zevran saw his opportunity. For days he had stood by while the Warden and the pocket goddess teased each other. They appeared to be getting closer to each other and he burned that his progress with the Warden was being thwarted. He was convinced that if they weren’t already having sex it would be only a matter of time, leaving him out in the cold. He was determined not to let that happen, “I shall gladly accompany the pocket goddess. Perhaps Alistair could protect whoever goes to the pond.”

 

“Then let us go,” Jannasilane said before Alistair could say anything else. She was relieved to be almost alone. They moved in silence at first, but soon Jannasilane relaxed a bit and asked him more questions about Antiva and the Crows. She was tired of brooding about Alistair. For his part Zevran thought the blue robe she was wearing was quite conducive to his planned seduction. He moved so he was just barely inside her personal space, just enough for her body to be aware of his but not enough for her to object. “So you wish to know more of Antiva?” Jannasilane shivered as his voice seemed to vibrate through her skin. Zevran pretended not to notice and continued to use his voice to seduce her even as he spoke of innocuous things. “In Antiva City it is not only the flowers which perfume the air. It is rich with the scent of exotic spices and the best coffee. There are many fine cafes overlooking the ocean, where one can sit and watch people dance the dance of romance. Women with sultry eyes behind lace fans, handsome men preening and pretending to ignore them. I enjoy drinking fine wine and sitting where the breeze can caress my skin and the heat of the sun slowly thrusts deep inside with its warmth.”

 

He used his vast experience to caress her at every opportunity and yet have each touch seem perfectly casual, even incidental. Zevran recognized the signs of her arousal, the hardening of her nipples visible through the fabric of her robe, the way she trembled at his touch, her breathlessness when she spoke. Any qualms he had about taking advantage of her innocence and emotional state he pushed away.

 

Jannasilane had always thought Zevran handsome and graceful. This was the first time she’d spent any significant amount of time alone with him and the intensity of her reaction to his presence surprised and confused her. His touch and voice seemed so intimate, yet there was nothing she could object to. If she moved away he did not follow, yet it seemed as if no time passed before he was as close as ever. She wondered what it would be like if he touched her, really touched her, not by mistake or casually. She remembered Alistair seeking her out at night and then rolling away as soon as he realized what he was doing, leaving her body wanting and her heart empty. Would it really be so terrible to simply enjoy the company of another? One who did not find her disgusting?

 

She smiled with satisfaction when they reached the stream. There was a good supply of elfroot and other useful herbs. Thankfully the darkspawn horde was far enough away that the ground wasn’t tainted. She got down and sniffed the water, to see if any taint was coming from upstream. Zevran enjoyed the view, that delectable derriere nicely silhouetted, “You know, I have always enjoyed watching you walk. Your curves have such a lovely rhythm. But seeing them displayed like this is also very enjoyable.” His fingers lightly tracing her rear made it very clear to Jannasilane what he meant.

 

She sat up abruptly, blushing furiously, “Th-the water is s-safe. I’ll put some damp cloths in the bottom of the packs.” She couldn’t quite keep her movements steady when Zevran helped her.

 

They worked quickly. Zevran continued his campaign of seduction. At one point he stood and stretched, “All this grubbing in the dirt, I shall take advantage of the stream before we return to the others. Meanwhile, I see no reason not to air out my armor while we are here.” He quickly took off his armor and set it on some rocks. He was pleased at the reaction from Jannasilane. She couldn’t help following the lines of his tattoos; she kept looking away only to return her gaze to his body. When Zevran judged her curiosity was at its peak he pulled her to a kneeling position even as he got to his knees; carefully making sure no part of him was more than a breath away. Her breasts rubbed lightly against his chest with every breath, causing her to quiver. She was mesmerized by his actions. Zevran cupped her face, tracing her cheekbones with his thumb before closing her mouth and tracing her lips. “Like what you see, Pocket Goddess?” She whimpered when he leaned in to kiss her, his tongue replacing his fingers. Silkily he parted her lips and slowly ran his hands down her side and back. She put her hands on his shoulder but wasn’t sure whether to pull him closer or push him away.

 

Zevran smiled to himself. This was going to be even more satisfying than he could have hoped. She was indeed a ‘sexy little package.’ He moved his hands to caress the backs of her thighs and then back up, under her robe so only the thin cloth of her smallclothes was between his clever fingers and her sensitive skin. He pulled her closer so she had no choice but to move her arms around him or drop them to her side. She wrapped them around him. His kisses drugged her. His mouth traced the line of her jaw to her ears and he gently nibbled her lobe before moving down her neck. At the same time he slipped his hands under her smalls and eased them down over the silky flesh. Her protest died in her throat when he once again brought his mouth to hers. “Z-Zev-Zevran?” she was finally able to speak when his fingers found their way between her legs and began worrying her nub.

 

His breath hot against her ear he answered her question with one of his own, “Do you wish me to stop, oh spicy temptress?” He nipped the sweet curve where her neck met her shoulder. He pushed her back onto the soft ground and braced his hands on either side of her, imprisoning her with his body. He kissed her and then breathed more kisses against her skin and whispered once more, “Should I stop?” He became immobile as he waited; the closeness of his body to hers was an aphrodisiac.

 

Almost painfully Jannasilane opened her eyes. She stared at the tanned skin so close she could lick it without moving. She could smell his arousal and her own. Maker help her she wanted this. “N-n-no, d-don’t stop,” she stuttered. This time when he kissed her he took absolute possession. Under no circumstances would he allow her to come to her senses and change her mind. His tongue challenged hers to a duel as he held her close to him. His hands kneaded her bare bottom while only the material of her robe separated her from his erection. He nipped her lips and trailed kisses along the line of her jaw back to her ear. This time he nibbled and sucked more insistently. He spread kisses down her neck, leaving little bruises behind.

 

He moved his hands to the front of her robe and whispered in her ear, “Did the Warden ever bring you to woods just so he could bare you to his gaze?” She didn’t even have time to understand the question before he did just that, spreading her robe open so that her breasts spilled out into his eager hands. Masterfully he manipulated her, tweaking, pinching and caressing bringing her to the brink again and again. She would have done anything to stop the exquisite torture he was inflicting. He marveled at the texture of her skin and the feel of her nipple pebbling in his mouth. Even the slight touch of teeth as he rolled her nipple in his mouth had her begging him. Hungrily now he shoved her robe all the way off and feasted. He squeezed her breasts together so he could more easily divide his attention between them. Few understood how sensitive the underside of a woman’s breast could be. He licked the warm skin, enjoying the taste. With his fingers he parted the folds of her womanhood and slid them skillfully into her entrance. He bit under her breast then sucked and soothed with his tongue as his practiced hands performed their own magic. Her fingers were tangled in his hair and he reveled at the sensation of her nails lightly scratching.

 

When he moved to trace her navel with his tongue she bucked against him. She could feel his smile against her skin and didn’t care. He tongued her nub and then slowly brought it into his mouth, lightly teething and sucking. His fingers began moving more rhythmically in and out, stroking her and bringing her higher. He moved so that his tongue replaced his fingers and his hands had a firm grasp on that wonderful rear. She cried out when his tongue worked its magic. The roughness rasped delightfully against her inner flesh. He sucked and licked until she came, drinking up the juices as they flowed. When she relaxed he moved back to her mouth and spread her legs over his shoulders, leaving her completely at his mercy. She was wonderfully limber. He closed his eyes in pleasure when he entered her, enjoying being buried in a woman’s curves once more. And this one was such a wonderful example of the species.

 

After so many unfulfilled nights and Zevran’s skillful teasing it didn’t take long for Jannasilane’s desire to start building again as soon as he entered her. She could taste herself on his lips when he kissed her, bruising her. His tongue mimicked his thrusting manhood and brought her release. And again when he spilled his seed inside her. Breathing harshly he rode out the aftershocks, still thrusting. Looking at her swollen lips and sated expression, he smiled. He let her legs slide off his shoulders down to the ground. It was tempting to simply collapse on top of that wonderful flesh and savor the moment and he purred in her ear, “You are a very sensual woman, my little siren.”

 

Jannasilane felt pleasantly limp. She wouldn’t say so to Zevran, but it wasn’t as nice as it had been with Alistair before Soldier’s Peak. Still, it was obvious to her that he was very skilled and she couldn’t honestly say she was sorry. It was nice to pretend for a few minutes.

 

Gently he lay her down on the ground and kissed her. He found what was left of her smalls and cleaned the two of them as best he could. He was proud that his efforts had given her such satisfaction even as he accomplished his own goals. He stood and his eyes glittered strangely as they traveled down that luscious little body of hers, stopping on every bruise. They were well placed. Even if she could hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath her robe the Warden would easily be able to see what she had been doing. Perhaps the Warden would not be quite so entranced and would turn his eyes to a more elven direction as they had before. He spoke to the girl lying before him, his tone lightly mocking, “Tsk, I wonder what your Warden would say if he saw you like this, covered in the signs of possession by another man?”

 

Jannasilane froze, her head clearing as dread replaced satisfaction. She had to clear her throat twice before she could speak, “Why do you care what Alistair thinks?” She watched him carefully to judge his answer, a heavy lump in the pit of her stomach.

 

“Alistair? What does the templar . . .” realization dawned on Zevran as he realized he had completely misinterpreted the changed relationship between the Wardens and this girl. His desire for the Grey Warden had blinded him to the fact that while he had an easy and familiar relationship with Jannasilane, the true connection was still between her and Alistair. All he had managed to do, other than have sex with an incredibly sensual woman was to damage further whatever was going on between her and Alistair, the possibility of enticing Blake, and whatever friendship he might have had with the lovely Jannasilane. And perhaps his desire, though not as strong, for her had also blinded him. Zevran was unfamiliar with jealousy or he might have recognized the signs before now. He was forced to admit to himself that his plan was ill-conceived even if she and the Warden were together.

 

“I see,” Jannasilane said hollowly, unaware of the slow tears falling. “Well, not really. I only see that I was not important.” Zevran didn’t dare touch her, he felt completely unworthy of doing so. “Alistair already made me feel like a piece of trash on a brothel floor. I didn’t need you to finish what he started,” she said bitterly. Slowly, like a wizened old woman, she made her way to the stream and tried to scrub away all signs of their recent activity. Still wet she pulled on her robe. So many bruises, Zevran’s marks, dotted the flesh left open by the robe she couldn’t begin to hide them. With as much pride as she could manage she finally looked at the brooding Antivan, “you’re old enough to be my father, _Mr. Arainai,_ don’t you think it’s time you grew up?” She felt soiled. She picked up the herbs and left him. She felt so ashamed that she had allowed herself to be used. She didn’t realize that, inexperienced and emotionally vulnerable, she’d been an easy target for someone of Zevran’s skill and determination.

 

Zevran got dressed slowly. He was almost as unfamiliar with guilt as he was jealousy and he didn’t like either feeling. Her words and her tears kept replaying in his mind. _“She is right, it is time I grew up and stopped acting like a selfish child.”_ He followed her, “I do not know what I can do to make this right, but I shall try. I am sorry. I would ask for your forgiveness but I do not deserve it.” He couldn’t blame her for not saying anything. She might want to be alone but it was too dangerous until they reached the others. He winced at the dull, lifeless expression in her eyes and felt lower than at almost any point in his life. Even the Crows’ training, designed to break the spirit, never made him feel so low.

 

They made their way back in silence. When they were close Jannasilane took a deep breath and lifted her head. Zevran was relieved to see the sign of pride. The pack of herbs she was carrying hid the bruises and the front of her robe.

 

“You’re back! I was getting worried,” Alistair said when he saw them. Then he frowned, “Your hair is wet.”

 

Jannasilane sniffed and raised her head, “Yes. We found many herbs,” she said turning to Blake. Zevran couldn’t help admiring the way she deliberately ignored Alistair’s unasked questions. “It will not take long to get these ready for poultices.” Zevran kept his features schooled to a mild interest when Alistair glanced at him suspiciously.

 

The routine preparations gave Jannasilane some solace and allowed her the chance to gather more of her composure.  She was able to take a moment to quickly change robes. She felt better once she was more covered and most of the bruises hidden. What was done was done. If she felt cold and sick inside, well that was her business. She felt Alistair’s presence before he spoke, “Do you need any help?” She shook her head dismissively. She didn’t want to talk to him, not now. But he didn’t take the hint. In a lower voice he asked her, “Did he hurt you?”

 

Jannasilane whipped her head up at that, her eyes gleaming like a wounded, angry lion. _“How dare he ask me that! As if he has a right . . .”_ Her voice tight with fury she snarled at him with a question of her own, “You mean more than you did?” She watched his face go whiter than bone and tried not to feel guilty. She didn’t succeed, especially when he stumbled away from her. Part of her wanted to call out to him, but hurt pride wouldn’t let her. She scowled as she finished with the herbs and packed everything away. She wasn’t sure which was worse, what happened with Zevran or that she was going to have to apologize to Alistair. _“I’ll think about it tomorrow, maybe.”_

 

Soon they were on the move again. It was easy to put their differences aside as they drew nearer to Ostagar. They didn’t really have time to do anything but keep alert and fight.


	21. Ostagar Revisited

Winter came early to Ostagar. Snow drifted and covered everything. General Lee whined and the two Grey Wardens took a moment to gather their thoughts. So many memories came back, hopes and dreams now destroyed. So many good men dead. Jannasilane stood between them, the enormity of what happened hitting her. She reached for and took one of their hands into her own, giving what comfort she could. Alistair looked down at her and caught her looking up at him. Her eyes were dark with emotion but she didn’t look away. He took some comfort in that. Ever since she came back with Zevran several days ago they’d been avoiding each other. Truth be told he hadn’t been seeking her out in the weeks since Soldier’s Peak. Maybe, just maybe she was starting to forgive him. “Looks like the darkspawn have been redecorating,” he said lightly and was rewarded with a small smile. “Luckily for us the darkspawn don’t like cold, so we shouldn’t have as many to deal with.”

 

“We’re near Cailan’s war council,” Blake ignored Alistair. He didn’t realize he was squeezing Package’s hand. “Three months ago I was joking with Fergus about the cold and lonely march ahead of him. I came in from the other side, near the Tower of Ishal. Cailan met us just the other side of the bridge. He seemed quite happy to see us, to see Duncan returning with a new recruit. He promised he would deal with Howe once the darkspawn were defeated. It seems like another lifetime. Perhaps it was.”

 

“Uldred and I were the only mages who survived. How strange it is to be back here now. It feels like we are walking on their corpses,” Wynne sighed. The others stirred uneasily. They may not have been at Ostagar but they could feel the magnitude of the catastrophe which had occurred here. Even Morrigan was not unaffected.

 

Jannasilane sensed something. Darkspawn of course, but there was something else. It was hard to tell with so many of the twisted creatures nearby. She didn’t even have time to frown over it before they were attacked. Quickly they got into their accustomed positions and fought back. Zevran maneuvered so he could keep an eye out for both the Warden and the pocket goddess. He was determined not to let any more harm come to her. He’d been watching out for her from a distance since the day by the stream. Unfortunately for Wynne that meant she got the ‘benefit’ of his over the top flirtatious comments.

 

The combination of snow and groups of darkspawn meant they moved slowly. As they continued their battles against the darkspawn Jannasilane tried to keep her senses tuned to find the ‘other’ that she sensed. Unfortunately she ended up distracting herself. When Alistair nearly got hurt because she turned away from a darkspawn coming against her Blake had enough. As soon as the skirmish was over he grabbed her upper arm and marched her away from the others. “What in blazes is wrong with you?” he demanded. His temper wasn’t improved to see Zevran hovering nearby. “You need to concentrate on the battle at hand. Your personal issues cannot be allowed to interfere with the safety of the group, now what is going on?”

 

She was already pale from the realization that Alistair could have been hurt because of her. Blake yelling at her made her turn whiter, “I-it’s not, it’s not personal,” she stammered. “I th-think there’s a Warden somewhere.”

 

Blake let go of her arm in surprise and then cursed when he saw the beginnings of burn marks. “Damn it, why didn’t you say something? I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” He scowled at her.

 

 “If my actions caused Alistair or somebody else to be hurt then I deserve them. I didn’t even feel them until now.” She looked over at Alistair; he was sitting and watching them with an anxious expression. Blake pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers then motioned Alistair to join them. Before he could say anything Jannasilane spoke to the warrior, “I am sorry, Alistair. I do not wish to see you hurt, especially if I am the cause.”

 

“No harm done,” he shrugged, “to me anyway,” he added when he saw the marks on her arm. He turned to Blake, “What’s going on?”

 

“She thinks a Grey Warden is somewhere at Ostagar and she’s been distracted trying to determine exactly where this person might be.” Blake was silent a minute, thinking. “Maybe you are sensing a Warden, Package, but when we’re fighting darkspawn or anything else you need to keep your attention focused one hundred percent on the battle. You can try your sensing thing again when we’re not in immediate danger, is that clear?”

 

“Yes, Warden,” Jannasilane answered in a small voice.

 

“You knew we were Grey Wardens when we first saw you, how come you don’t know for sure if you are sensing a Warden now?” Alistair wondered.

 

“I suppose I assumed if more Wardens survived they would be with you and I sensed no others. You were not surrounded by darkspawn; we had just killed the only ones in the area. My sense did not become active until just a few years ago and I have not had much practice until recently. I know only that I got a quick sense of something that was not darkspawn, was not you and was not Blake. It felt related to how you and Blake feel to me,” Jannasilane struggled to explain what she did not completely understand herself. “Perhaps I should see if this is something I can make stronger.”

 

“That could be useful but right now we need to get ready. There are more darkspawn manning the ballistae overlooking the Wilds. Positions everyone!” Blake commanded. Another series of skirmishes commenced and steadily they cleared out the darkspawn this side of the bridge. The bridge seemed clear but there was no cover so they moved quickly until they reached the middle. There they stopped in shocked horror. “There used to be a statue here,” Blake growled quietly, angered by the darkspawn treatment of King Cailan. Alistair just clenched his jaw and stared, his expression a mix of grief and anger. Jannasilane’s eyes widened. In place of the statue which used to stand a man’s body had been placed and posed. Arrows dotted his naked form. For a minute she thought she was looking at Alistair and had to turn her head to verify the warrior was standing next to her. She looked again at the body of Cailan. In spite of the pain he must have suffered death had given him a luminous beauty and tranquil grace. In the background Leliana said a soft prayer.

 

Their battle continued when the corpses on the bridge came to ‘life’ courtesy of a genlock necromancer. Alistair made a vow to come back and give Cailan what honor they could. On they went. Even though Blake had decided they would salvage after all the darkspawn were cleared out Alistair insisted on retrieving any of Cailan’s armor they found. He didn’t want to risk it disappearing again. “Do you still sense a Grey Warden, Janna?” Alistair asked before they followed their enemy into the Tower of Ishal.

 

“Ye-es, but it is muffled. I do not think too far away but I cannot get a good direction. It feels like it is coming from below, which I do not understand,” she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

 

“There are even older ruins underneath the Tower. The darkspawn broke through to come into the Tower from below but we’ll see soon enough,” Blake speculated. And in they went and just barely dodged a fireball. “We need to put that emissary down,” Blake gritted his teeth. Fortunately none of them were hurt. Ogres were in the main room waiting for them and reminding both Wardens of their last ill-fated visit. The darkspawn even released a Bereskarn from its cage. Once they took care of everything on this level of the Tower they tried to open the door upstairs but it was jammed shut. Their only option was to go down the hole in the floor and find out what they could. Alistair voiced the distaste they all felt as they jumped down, one after the other.

 

There were more spiders than darkspawn in the underground ruins. Jannasilane shook her head as they moved along, “I hate the sound spiders make; it’s creepy.”

 

“I have to agree with the pocket goddess. The sound seems to stay with you even when they are gone,” Zevran grimaced.

 

“I never noticed that. I agree they are unpleasant, but no more so than other creatures we have come across,” Leliana replied.

 

Wynne spoke up then, “Ah, but our ears are not as sensitive as Jannasilane’s and Zevran’s. They obviously pick up something we are fortunate enough to miss.”

 

“The way out seems to be up ahead. Our necromancer friend is out there and I am sure he has something special in mind,” Blake interrupted them.

 

“He is not the only one; I can sense the Warden as well.” Blake nodded at Package to show he understood and led the way outside. They had to blink in the sudden brightness. The two Wardens and Wynne also blinked back the sudden onrush of memories of the battle waged and lost on this very field.

 

“There he is, the Grey Warden, on the other side. He is surrounded,” Jannasilane shouted and began racing off to help. The others were spurred to action and that’s when the necromancer struck. He resurrected not just the dead soldiers but a giant ogre in Jannasilane’s path. Quickly she slid between its legs and leapt onto its back with daggers slicing, slowing and weakening it while the others caught up to her. When she reached its shoulders she launched herself backwards over the heads and reaching arms of the angry skeletons. She hit the ground running and continued to the lone Grey Warden. She heard Alistair yelling to draw the attention of the small mob behind her and smiled.

 

When she got close to the creatures surrounding the other Warden she screeched. Those not disoriented were at least startled enough that she was able to bowl a few over and join the Warden. He nodded appreciation of her assistance and together they quickly dispatched the dead. Breathing heavily she looked around, “There he is, the necromancer, we stop him we stop all.” Together they raced toward the fiendish creature. The other Warden fired arrows to distract it as they ran. Jannasilane separated from him in order to try and flank the creature. From across the field Alistair saw what they were doing and moved close enough to smite him before turning back to the ogre at hand. That smite gave them the opening they needed to take it down. Across the field the others were quickly dealing with the remnants of the attack.

 

Smiling, the other Warden turned to Jannasilane, “I thank you, milady, for your helpful intervention.” He took her hand and bowed to her, kissing the back of her hand as he did so. She blushed slightly and he let go of her hand when he stood. “My name is Riordan, and how should I address my rescuer?” Riordan had always had a weakness for small curvy women and he could not hide the masculine appreciation in his eyes as he looked at her.

 

Jannasilane grinned then, “I think, Warden Riordan, you would have been quite successful without my help. I am Jannasilane, you can call me Janna or Lane if you prefer.” His honest but gentlemanly appreciation was a balm to her ego, first damaged by Alistair then by Zevran. She chuckled at his look of surprise when she addressed him by his title but did not get a chance to explain before they were surrounded by the others.

 

Alistair and Zevran moved behind Jannasilane in a protective maneuver which was not lost on Riordan. He kept his eyes on Alistair even as Blake stood by her side, examining the stranger. “As I was explaining to the Lady Janna I am Riordan . . . Alistair? It is you, is it not?” he interrupted himself as he recognized the blond warrior.

 

“Yes, that’s right. Wait a minute, I recognize you now.” He spoke to Blake, “he was at my Joining, an Orlesian Warden from Montsimmard or Jader, I think. I’m sorry, I don’t remember which.”

 

Blake studied the older man. “Orlais? I thought all the Orlesian Grey Wardens were turned away by Loghain. Where are the rest of you?”

 

“You are correct in that we were indeed refused entry into Ferelden. This came as a surprise since King Cailan himself invited us but then we heard that the Grey Wardens were being blamed for his death. It was decided that one of us should try to slip into Ferelden and find out what was happening. I volunteered. I am Fereldan, born in Highever, and a friend of Duncan’s. We joined at the same time and we felt I might have the best chance of success. Running into you here is fortuitous indeed.”

 

“I have some questions of my own, if you don’t mind coming with me,” Blake answered him. He turned to the others who were watching with interest, “Alistair, Package, come with me. The rest of you, please salvage anything useable and take it near the old Highway entrance. Later Bodahn and Sandal can bring the cart and we can load up. I noticed a number of items we can use or sell and we’ll be better equipped.” He moved off with Package and his fellow Wardens.

 

“What about Cailan?” Alistair asked.

 

“I haven’t forgotten him, don’t worry. I would prefer to take care of the other business so we can focus on him when we send him off to the Maker. He deserves that much.” Blake thought about the timing of events before he spoke again, “Riordan, Loghain must have sent the orders to refuse you entry some time before the battle here, which means he planned for Cailan’s death weeks if not months ahead of time.” He went on to detail for the older man exactly what happened. By the time he was finished they were back at the mage’s camp.

 

“It is truly a shame that a great man would let blind hatred lead him down such a dishonorable road. I am glad you were able to find the old treaties. Grey Wardens are not supposed to involve themselves in politics but I do not see that you have much choice if we wish to contain this Blight. There have been increased sightings of darkspawn along the borders of Orlais and into the Free Marches though the focus remains here in Ferelden.” Riordan hesitated before continuing, “I have other things to do here and in Denerim, Grey Warden business I wish to discuss with you.” Delicately he nodded his head at Jannasilane.

 

Blake and Alistair looked at each other and grinned before looking back at Riordan, “Don’t worry about Package,” Blake laughed. “She probably knows more about Grey Wardens than either of us.” He shrugged then, “you knew her father, Duncan. But if we are going to talk Warden stuff . . . Package, I don’t think there’s much but why don’t you check out the circle up there where we defeated the first group of darkspawn. There’s too many of us here to search for the key, we’ll end up stepping on each other. Or worse we’ll step on you.”

 

“Now you make fun of my lack of inches,” she stretched herself as tall as she could.

 

“I assure you, Package, you don’t lack inches, now go,” he laughed when she looked at him in perplexity before rolling her eyes and scampering off.

 

The three men watched her leave. Alistair spoke first, “you know, one of these days she is going to understand everything you and Zevran have ever said to her and take you down.” Blake just grinned wickedly. Alistair scowled, “that is _so_ not what I meant and you know it.”

 

“She is refreshing, an exuberant and charming young woman,” Riordan commented. “To the business at hand, my friends. My first duty is to make a list of all the Wardens who died here and notify my Commander. She will then do whatever needs to be done. The compound in the Palace is, or should I say was, not the only Grey Warden site in Denerim. We have a hidden arms cache near the Market District and a small apartment in one of the less affluent parts of Denerim.” He sketched out the locations and told them how to get inside. “You must be circumspect if you go to either location. I doubt that Loghain knows about them but I need to ascertain this for myself. I have some contacts, friends of the Wardens, and may need to be in Denerim some weeks gathering information.”

 

“Once we’re done here we’re going to Redcliffe to get Arl Eamon’s support. He was Cailan’s uncle. Why don’t you meet with us there before you head to Denerim? We should have some news for you and you can stock up on supplies,” Blake suggested. “Neither Alistair nor I have been Grey Wardens for even a year. We know a Grey Warden has to kill the Archdemon and about the nightmares, lower fertility, increased stamina, appetite and healing, the Calling and a shorter lifespan. Is there anything else to know or watch out for? Does it matter how we kill the Archdemon or only that it be a Grey Warden?”

 

“Be it by arrow, magic, sword or axe; be it in the head, heart or throat the only thing that matters is that the killing blow be by a Warden. Beyond that I think you already know the important part, to be firm in your beliefs, protect people from their own ignorance, and be as loyal as you can to your brothers, even knowing that you'll share their deaths." Riordan sighed, “This you do even though it seems an impossible task at times. I think I will do as you suggest and go to Redcliffe once I am done here. Do not wait for me if you are ready to move elsewhere. Once I am finished in Denerim I will return to Redcliffe and wait for you unless circumstances suggest otherwise, I gather it will be safer for you to resupply there than so close to Loghain.”

 

Alistair suggested he leave or look for any messages with Bann Teagan or Arl Eamon. “Yes, that would be good. I shall go see if the little one found anything and make sure she is alright while you look for whatever it is you seek,” with a smile and a slight bow he walked away from them. Alistair brooded a bit, he thought he detected a personal interest in Riordan’s last statement but realized he had no right to do anything about it.

 

Jannasilane was standing at the edge of the circle overlooking the Wilds and the Tower while the wind played with her hair. Riordan admired the scene a moment before he quietly walked up to join her. She didn’t turn around, kept her eyes on the world before her, “Hello, Riordan, I suppose this means you are done with your Warden business.”

 

He cocked his head as he studied her, “Indeed we are, little one. How is it you know it was me instead of Alistair or Blake?”

 

She turned then and smiled up at him. He wasn’t as tall either of her Wardens, about average height which meant she didn’t have to crane her neck as much to see his face. He wasn’t a young man, of course, but he was fit. His fighting skills were testimony to that. Dark brown eyes returned her gaze politely, reserved yet warm. She didn’t sense layers of secrets as she had when first meeting Leliana, Morrigan or Zevran but rather the aura of a man used to being on his guard and keeping information close to him. Guarding his secrets rather than practicing deceit. He was an attractive man with a worn elegance in his manner and the lines of his face. She continued to study him as she finally answered, “I have been traveling with them long enough to know their, hmm, their mental scent I guess is the best way to describe it. You are Grey Warden but not Alistair and not Blake, your Wardenness is much stronger than theirs.”

 

“I do not understand this ability of yours, but then it is hard for me to believe Duncan had a child and kept it secret all these years. He was good at guarding secrets entrusted to him, but I knew him as well as any. You are a lovely young woman and Duncan would have been a Warden for many years,” Riordan didn’t disbelieve her, the resemblance was there in the line of her jaw and strength of her chin if you knew where to look. He had only to remember the young fellow recruit; Duncan didn’t have his beard then, for a comparison. The Duncan he knew would not have turned his back on a child he fathered by some miracle.

 

“My mother said he was traveling a lot on many errands for his Commander or the First. They were friendly but there was never a, er, formal arrangement between them. She said he was very dedicated to the Grey Wardens and she wasn’t at all surprised when he was made Warden-Commander of Ferelden. He was away when she realized she was pregnant. She knew he would not marry her, or at least not want to marry her. So she left without ever telling him about me. You were a friend of his, perhaps you knew my mother as well? Alessandra-”

 

“Alessandra Alenahaella? She is a lovely woman, you have her eyes, little one,” Riordan cut in. “I remember her; I think Duncan cared more than she realized. He was distraught for several days when he found she left. Her note simply said that she wished him well and would always remember him but she was needed elsewhere. He took it to mean her skills with healing potions.” Riordan thought back to that time and considered. “I believe, though, that your mother was right about his sense of duty. By then he had come to fully embrace all that being a Grey Warden means, including the sacrifices which might have to be made. Some Grey Wardens do marry, but this happens rarely, and Duncan would not have been one of them. How does your mother fare?” he regretted asking as soon as he saw the grief in her eyes.

 

“She and my stepfather died in a fire shortly before I met the Wardens on the road to Lothering,” she explained briefly. “Would you be willing to tell me about Duncan? We were planning to meet him in Denerim before the fire. I’d like to know more about him,” she put her hand on his arm.

 

“Duncan was my friend, I would be honored to regale his daughter with stories of his time in the Wardens and perhaps even of his misspent youth,” he could not help but smile at her. “I wish to ask you something about Blake. I do not wish to make him uncomfortable but I am curious as to his relationship to the late Teyrn of Highever. I grew up there and remember Bryce Cousland before he married and I joined the Grey Wardens.”

 

She looked away from him then, “The Teyrn was Blake’s father. He was in the castle when Howe’s murderers attacked. Duncan, Duncan was also there looking for recruits and managed to get Blake away before Howe or his men tracked him down.” Jannasilane looked back at him, “if you and Teyrn Cousland were friends Blake might like to hear about his father as a young man. Did he also have a ‘misspent youth?’”

 

“It would not be right for me to tell you before Blake. Shall we return, my lady little one?” he crooked his arm for her and lifted an eyebrow when she started to put her arm in his then retreated. “Is something wrong?”

 

“I am sorry, I mean no offense, it is just that I am allergic to non-dragon leather,” she flushed with embarrassment that she might have offended him.

 

“Ah,” Riordan took off his glove, “then may I take your hand as I would if I were a high Orlesian noble and you a high Orlesian lady?” She giggled then and allowed him to take her hand. It wasn’t like when Alistair used to hold her hand; Riordan took the tips of her fingers and lightly grasped them so that her hand was resting on top of his. Together they rejoined the other Wardens.


	22. Goodbye, My King

Jannasilane still had her hand in Riordan’s when they returned to her Wardens. In her other hand she carried a silver chalice. She held it up and marveled at the workmanship. A design had been etched into the silver so that it shone as if it were encrusted with diamonds. “Why would the darkspawn throw this aside?” she asked with wonder as she traced the circlet of griffons around the base. “It was not in either the sack or crate I found.”

 

Alistair was glad she was no longer holding hands with Riordan, “That’s Duncan’s, he used it for Joinings,” Alistair answered. “Maybe the darkspawn sensed its purpose and discarded it,” he suggested.

 

“Do you want it, Alistair? Blake?” she asked.

 

“No, I don’t need any more reminders of my Joining,” Blake pointed to his amulet.

 

Alistair shook his head, “I think you should keep it, Janna. I’d like a keepsake if we find one, but he was your father. You should have it.”

 

She smiled happily, the first true smile in days. Alistair blinked; he’d almost forgotten how radiant she was when she smiled. “I would like that. Thank you, Ali. Perhaps I should keep an eye out for something more suited for a ‘manly man,’” she teased. He grinned; happy that maybe they could at least be friends again. Assuming he could ignore the lust surging through him at her smile.

 

“I appreciate that. I’m glad you finally realize I’m a manly man, Package,” Blake intervened with a straight face. He was almost as happy as Alistair that tension was easing between his two friends. Jannasilane snorted and carefully put away the chalice. This was not going to be added to the loot they’d scavenge and sell. Wynne, Morrigan and General Lee joined them then. Blake looked at the newcomers and held up a key. “We found the key to the Royal Chest. There were a lot more statues than either of us remembered but we found it. We found a fair amount of supplies and equipment worth salvaging as well. I want to save whatever coin we get until we absolutely need to spend it. We still have a lot to do.”

 

“I agree,” Morrigan said regally. She was glad to see that the Warden was finally seeing _some_ sense though she was less glad to see Alistair and the play toy easier in each other’s company. _“I suppose the elf’s charms have a limited appeal though I would think they would still be preferable to that fool templar,”_ she huffed to herself. _“Although, maybe the older Warden can keep her occupied. He obviously finds her attractive and he is too old to be of any use to me.”_ She began calculating how she could push that female towards Riordan.

 

The quartermaster’s forge was one example they found of darkspawn ‘redecorating’ as Alistair referred to it. Leliana shivered, “It looks like some sort of altar and I do not wish to see what they worship.”

 

“Oh look, one of our chests is undamaged. I wish I had the key,” Wynne said.

 

Blake looked through his pockets, “Maybe this is it.” He then unlocked the chest and bowed, “ **Voilà**.”

 

“I don’t think I’ll ask how you got that key, young man,” Wynne raised an eyebrow at the Grey Warden and then began looking through the chest, muttering to herself, “potions, herbs, good, good, amulets, ah . . . yes, I remember this.” She pulled out a staff and handed it to Morrigan, “I think you will be able to use this Morrigan. It’s more powerful than the one you have with you. Irving gave me one of his before I left and it’s quite good enough for my needs.”

 

Morrigan blinked when the staff was placed in her hands, “Yes, I can feel the power. Surely you want something in exchange.” She couldn’t believe someone would just hand over something so powerful and valuable. That simple statement told the others more about her relationship with Flemeth than anything she had volunteered in the weeks and months since joining the last two Fereldan Wardens.

 

“Morrigan,” Wynne chose her words carefully. The last thing she wanted was for the temperamental woman to sense the pity she felt, “with the enemies we’re facing it is best for all of us if each of us is as well-equipped as possible. Certainly if you remain with the Grey Wardens until the end you will have earned it.”

 

“I . . . thank you.” Rarely unsure of herself Morrigan said nothing more. She tried it out on the darkspawn altar and was more than satisfied with the results. She almost purred at how well it felt in her hands.

 

“Now to the Royal Arms Chest,” Alistair said. By now there party was back together and they all trooped behind the two young Wardens. Jannasilane remained at Riordan’s side, Zevran once again taking a protective stance near her. Alistair pulled out Maric’s sword, an exquisite example of the best artisan's work.

 

“That is one sexy blade you hold in your hand, Alistair,” Zevran couldn’t help exclaiming. “I would love to have it in my hands.” Alistair looked at him, certain there was a double meaning but Zevran’s eyes were glued covetously on the gleaming blue blade. Carefully he slid it into its protective sheath and put it next to him. There were a few other things in the chest, some gold, some gems. He felt around for the mechanism to open the secret compartment Elric mentioned. “Blake, you try, you’re more skilled with devious devices than I am.”

 

“Thank you for noticing,” Blake said drily. Alistair shrugged his shoulders and moved aside, hovering anxiously to see what Blake might uncover. Blake concentrated and delicately moved his fingers over the bottom and sides, especially where two planes met. He felt a slight difference in one corner and pressed. There was an almost inaudible click as a seam loosened. Quickly he pried it open, he looked up at Alistair and smirked, “Do you want to read them or shall I?”

 

Alistair grabbed them and started reading, “Here it is, she pledged the support of her chevaliers to help defeat the Blight. Help which will never come now,” he commented bitterly.

 

Wynne tried to soothe him while Blake read the letters, “Never is a very long time, Alistair. Once some time has passed and cooler heads prevail perhaps there will be peace between Ferelden and Orlais.”

 

“I hope we both live to see it, Wynne,” he replied.

 

Blake finished reading the letters and carefully folded and put them away in his pack. “Cailan and the Empress seemed to be on friendly terms,” he said lightly. He looked at Riordan then.

 

Riordan nodded, “Yes, there were rumors that the two leaders were quite comfortable with each other, even shared a mutual fondness.”

 

“Well that’s good, isn’t it? The next king might be able to build on what Cailan began,” Alistair stated.

 

Blake raised an eyebrow, “Possibly, though maybe not as easily as you think.” Riordan also had a twinkle in his eye. Only General Lee, Alistair and Jannasilane did not get the implications in Blake’s statements. _“Alistair is really going to have to ditch that naïveté soon or he’ll be eaten alive. Speaking of eating . . .”_ his gaze shifted to Zevran. Something sparked between them when their eyes met. The elf was the first to look away. Blake wondered about that but put it aside so they could deal with Cailan.

 

They returned to the center of the bridge and looked up at the former king with varying emotions. “Ugh, they left him to rot,” Alistair muttered with pained disgust.

 

“He looks so beautiful,” Jannasilane whispered. Alistair turned around and looked at her in disbelief, as did some of the others. Morrigan snorted in amusement.

 

Leliana was surprised enough to look more closely, “What do . . . oh, I see what you mean. If you look past what was done to him his expression is one of beauty and grace. I think the darkspawn would not have displayed him so if they realized this was the result.”

 

Riordan looked thoughtfully at the small woman next to Alistair and Blake. _“Duncan’s daughter, I need to remember that. She is a surprising young woman to be sure.”_ He lifted his eyes to the dead king and tried to see what Jannasilane saw, _“Hmm, yes, if I use my imagination to remove the insults to his body . . . there it is. Duncan was fond of Cailan because of Maric as much as anything. I think he would have been pleased with his daughter’s observation. Her beauty is fiercer than her mother’s and not as obvious, yet it calls to me. Perhaps I have been alone too long; I am almost old enough to be her grandfather.”_ He ended his reverie and helped take Cailan down and carry him to what used to be Duncan’s fire near the royal enclave.

 

As the only survivors of Ostagar Blake, Alistair and Wynne set the torches to the pyre. Behind them Leliana quoted from the Chant of Light and softly played an old Ferelden dirge. Morrigan stayed away. As far as she was concerned the dead man was a fool who walked into his death and she would not honor a fool. Sten watched from a distance. He didn’t approve of the time being wasted and didn’t understand this preoccupation with a dead husk. Qunari understood that it was just an empty shell and had no more value. Humans had a lot to learn.

 

Zevran was watching the Warden from the shadows. Blake was unlike any man he had ever met, certainly any nobleman. He was confident and could even be arrogant but wasn’t pompous or full of his own importance. He was a natural leader. Yet he was also flexible and more open-minded than he was used to in nobles, well nobles interested in more than their own pleasures. Those sorts of ‘nobles’ would do anything in pursuit of pleasure and were always an easy mark. The Warden was pragmatic, was willing to bend his morals as needed for the cause but at core was strongly principled and wouldn’t cross certain lines. He had too much willpower to bed a handsome, willing elf such as himself just because of mutual attraction. And there was no longer any doubt in his mind that Blake wanted to be with him.

 

Which brought him to the other reason he was brooding. Ever since becoming a member of the Warden’s traveling companions he had felt unsettled, unlike his normal self. When he had a job he would do anything necessary to fulfill the contract and never felt guilty. Then the Warden allowed him to live. Never, until the Warden, had he set out to destroy an innocent in the pursuit of his own pleasurable goals. He had always been willing to take what was available or offered, even pursue his desires directly but take any rejection philosophically. He did not like himself for his actions to the delectable Jannasilane. _“I could accept a straightforward seduction. When I first saw her I thought of ways to seduce her, get my hands on those curves and tangled in that wild hair of hers. When did I put that aside in favor of the Warden, even though he is proving difficult? In the past I would have shrugged it off and reveled in the attentions of soft flesh and abundant curves. She is a warm, exciting and surprisingly sensual woman. I would have been more than satisfied to have her in my bed for as many nights as we both wished. Now I can’t bear to be with the Warden or Pocket Goddess, not with all this guilt. The pain in her face haunts me still. It is most annoying.”_

 

Alistair was the last one standing by the funeral pyre.  He didn’t know why he felt compelled to stand there alone. Cailan and he weren’t close, he hardly knew the man, though there were times when Cailan came looking for Duncan and found Alistair instead. They talked then, a little. The king was a busy man after all. From those talks he knew that they shared a love of cheese and silly jokes. Cailan asked him how he felt about being a Grey Warden and nodded his head in understanding when Alistair haltingly explained that he felt it was a good fit for him, that it was an honorable profession. _“I can hear his response even now, ‘I’ve often thought about what it would be like, to have one duty that none can argue with. I can’t imagine any of the Bannorn saying we should try to reason with the darkspawn instead of destroying them.’ For the first time I wondered if Cailan’s fascination with the Grey Wardens was a release for him from the pressures of being king, the politics, the endless bickering of the Bannorn, the unrelenting duty and tedium of governing. I wouldn’t want that job, why would anybody?”_ Finally he saluted the king one last time and joined the others.


	23. Riordan Tells Some Tales

Leliana was asking Riordan for any news from Orlais and Wynne was sitting nearby just listening to the chatter. She looked tired but seemed to enjoy the talk around her. Blake was sitting nearby with General Lee. Sometimes he looked at Riordan, sometimes he watched Zevran but mostly he stared into the fire. Sten and Morrigan were on opposite sides and a slight distance away. Jannasilane didn’t say anything just looked up when Alistair sat down next to her. “You said you were from Highever. Is your family still there?”

 

“It has been some time since I heard from them. Traveling with the Grey Wardens does not make it easy to stay in contact, you understand. My father did some tailoring when he could and the rest of the time he and my mother ran a small shop, mostly dry goods. My sister and her husband run it now. Perhaps you are familiar with them? Peasegoods is their name.” Riordan let Blake think about it and continued when recognition lit his face. “My brother joined the Teyrn’s army. He preferred being among those who traveled the Cousland lands and keeping them free from bandits and the like. He married the daughter of a farmer near Highever. Her brother owns the farm now but they have a small house on the property. It works very well for the two of them. He likes the bit of travelling he does but has the satisfaction of knowing that his wife and their children have a stable home. He never had the yen to travel any further than that. My feet were a bit itchier and I decided to see what opportunities awaited me elsewhere.”

 

“Did you know my father?” Blake and Jannasilane asked simultaneously. They looked at each other and snickered.

 

Riordan’s eyes twinkled when he answered, “Yes and no. Though we were both born in Highever I did not meet Duncan until shortly before we became Grey Wardens. I met Bryce Cousland when his father brought him to my father’s shop for a new set of clothes suitable for his first Landsmeet. He had about as much interest in that as I did in cutting cloth and we discussed many things while our fathers did their business. He liked to hunt and fish, as did I, so in time we did so whenever our schedules allowed. He used to tease me about my efforts to get close to our game with stealth but stopped teasing when I began to be more successful than he. He was quite competitive, something he tempered with other nobles. As we grew older we sometimes drank together and hunted other game, as young men do.”

 

Blake whispered to Package, “He means wenching, looking for women, Package.”

 

She blushed and said, “I know,” though in truth she didn’t until he explained. Then she had a thought and whispered back, “I guess he wasn’t like you then.” She blushed more furiously and wouldn’t look at Blake after she said it.

 

Blake’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. Alistair was startled as well but the look on their leader’s face broke him and he simply guffawed. Zevran couldn’t help chuckling as well. Leliana thought she looked adorable, blushing so hard over saying something naughty. The way Blake and Zevran teased her sometimes it was about time she zinged back. Riordan didn’t hear what they said to each other but he did find it refreshing to see the exchange between the young people.

 

Morrigan joined the others when Riordan began talking in the hopes she would learn something useful. She didn’t speak until the laughter died down. “You are an attractive man, I imagine you were quite successful when you were ‘hunting,’” she purred silkily. She decided her comment had the desired affect when Alistair glared and the Wardens’ toy looked at Riordan with female approval.

 

Riordan inclined his head, “Thank you. It has been a long time since I have enjoyed the compliments of a beautiful woman.” He turned his attention back to the Warden. “It was a casual friendship we shared, one neither of us figured would last once we followed our separate destinies. You could say we were more in the nature of friendly acquaintances when we did see each other. The last time was fifteen, twenty years ago. He was settled in his role as Teyrn and seemed comfortable and happy. I was visiting my family and we ran into each other while he was with your mother, an attractive and intelligent woman. I am truly sorry for your loss. They were well-liked and respected by the people of Highever,” Riordan offered his condolences. Blake accepted them quietly but Riordan noticed how hard he was grasping the hand Jannasilane offered in sympathy. They obviously weren’t lovers and he wondered what sort of bond there was between them but he kept his questions to himself.

 

After a moment during which he collected himself Blake asked about Duncan. “You said you didn’t know Duncan in Highever, how did you meet?”

 

“I was in Val Royeaux with some other recruits. We were only waiting for Warden-Commander Genevieve. There was a delay and only later did I discover Duncan was the cause. Commander Genevieve and some of the senior Wardens finally came to us with a scruffy young man in tow. He was a couple years younger than I and looked like one of the street rats common in Val Royeaux                   and that is how I met Duncan.” By this time the others had wandered off, leaving only the Wardens and Jannasilane.

 

“How was he recruited, do you know?” Jannasilane wanted to know more about the Warden who fathered her. Alistair was also interested.

 

Riordan hesitated before answering but decided Duncan would want his daughter to know the truth. “He was not so much recruited as conscripted before he could be executed for murder.” Nothing he said could have surprised them more.

 

“Duncan conscripted? A murderer? There must be some sort of mistake,” Alistair shook his head in disbelief. Jannasilane and Blake were startled as well.

 

“I did not know all the details right away, you understand, but you feel a special camaraderie with those who Joined with you. Duncan’s family moved to Val Royeaux when he was very young and died not many years later. He and his uncle did not have a comfortable relationship and he was mostly on his own. He resorted to thievery to support himself. One night he was caught while breaking into a hotel room and fought with the occupant over a ring. He accidentally killed the man, was arrested and sentenced to be executed. Before his sentence could be carried out the Warden-Commander came to see him, the man he killed was a Grey Warden, and suggested that Duncan take his place instead of hang. Duncan refused.”

 

“Why? If he did not mean to kill then would this not be a more appropriate type of atonement than hanging?” a frown formed between her eyebrows as she tried to figure out his reasoning. She also wondered how much her mother knew.

 

“He was scared. Later he told me that before he died the man thanked Duncan for killing him. That’s why Duncan got scared, how bad could the life be if he was _thanked_ for ending it? Duncan said he preferred a clean death to whatever horror awaited him. But the Warden-Commander was not one to take ‘no’ for an answer and she conscripted him. Many times after he tried to run away until one of the older Wardens told him that the dead man was not just a Grey Warden but the Commander’s fiancé and that the ring was purchased especially for her. After that, no more running. He became one of her more devoted Wardens, though he did keep his hands flexible with a little thievery now and again.” Riordan couldn’t help smiling at the memory. “We were healthy young men and occasionally went out together seeking company for an evening.”

 

“Is that why he was so dedicated? I never would have guessed Duncan was ever anything but serious about the darkspawn,” Alistair still had a hard time reconciling the Duncan he knew with the Duncan who was a thief and murderer, even if the murder was accidental.

 

“No, that came a bit later. He wanted to make up to the Commander for the wrongs he committed against her but something else happened which made him the absolute fighter of darkspawn you knew. I do not know the details, I know only that Commander Genevieve took a few Wardens, Duncan among them, on a specific task into the Deep Roads and most of the Wardens did not return. Duncan eventually told me they met a talking darkspawn, I think he said it called itself the Architect but would not say anymore, that he could not say anymore.” Alistair and Blake exchanged a look, remembering what Jannasilane told them at Soldier’s Peak. “Whatever happened changed him, he understood before the rest of us the importance of what we do and the types of sacrifices we might have to make. Only with his recruits did he allow himself to relax and display any fondness.” He looked at Jannasilane then, “this was a few years before he met your mother. I seriously doubt he told her any of this, by then he I doubt he ever thought of the rebellious young man he used to be.”

 

“I wonder if that’s why he recruited Daveth,” Blake muttered. Alistair snorted at that while Riordan and Jannasilane looked at him with questions in their eyes. Blake smiled crookedly, “Daveth was a sneak thief in Denerim. He made the mistake of cutting Duncan’s purse but Duncan was faster than he expected. If the guard hadn’t caught him he said Duncan would have. Apparently the guard was looking for him, probably to hang him. Instead Duncan invoked the Right of Conscription. Daveth was committed to fighting the darkspawn; I have to give him that. He would have liked you, Package, and I think you would have liked him.”

 

“Of course he would have liked her,” Alistair retorted, “before you came he spent all his time trying to . . . err . . . um . . . flirt, that’s it, flirt with every female he could talk to.” Blake smirked at his discomfort and rolled his eyes in reproof at the same time making him realize how uncomplimentary that sounded to Jannasilane. “I mean, that is, you’re beautiful and sexy and of course he would have tried to flirt with you even if he didn’t flirt with everybody else and . . . and I think I will just stop talking.”

 

Trying not very hard to stifle his amusement Riordan took some pity on the young warrior, “Now that it’s been established that Duncan’s daughter is a lovely young lady,” he bowed in her direction, “I shall get a little something more to eat.”

 

“I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind, Riordan,” Jannasilane got up and left with the older man.

 

“Talking darkspawn, that’s not good,” Alistair shook his head and watched gloomily as Jannasilane chattered away with Riordan.

 

Blake sighed, “Nothing we can do about it now. How long do darkspawn live? Maybe it’s dead by now. One thing we do know, they’re not common or Riordan would probably have heard of more than one.” He looked into the dwindling pyre where Cailan’s remains lay and brooded.

 

Alistair too stared into the funeral pyre. He preferred that to watching Jannasilane talking to another man, even if it was another Warden, maybe especially because of that. It didn’t matter that she was probably asking questions about Duncan.


	24. A Late Admission

Morning dawned a wintry gray over Ostagar. The Wardens and companions quickly loaded the items onto Bodahn’s cart before saying good-bye to Riordan. “Are you sure you do not wish one of us to stay and help, Riordan?” Jannasilane asked.

 

“No, little one. Your help clearing out the darkspawn is enough. One day, two at the most and I will be finished here and head to Redcliffe as discussed. If we do not meet again then we shall assuredly do so later. It has been my pleasure to meet Duncan’s daughter and his latest recruit,” he smiled at her even as he refused her offer of assistance. He took his leave of the others and went back to the fields of battle to identify the dead.

 

Blake and Alistair were glad to leave Ostagar and all its memories behind them. Wynne was as eager as they were to leave and nobody was inclined to linger though Jannasilane did turn around to watch Riordan leave. “He is handsome, is he not? I can hardly blame you for a second look,” Morrigan said, keeping her eyes on the distant Warden. She didn’t change the direction of her gaze even when she noticed the Wardens’ toy looking at her in surprise and suspicion. Instead she sighed as if regretting an opportunity lost and moved on.

 

They trudged through the snow. The first days the farther they moved away from Ostagar and Riordan the more darkspawn they fought. _“At least Riordan should have an easier path to Redcliffe,”_ Jannasilane thought. She looked forward to seeing him again and hoped she would have the opportunity to ask him questions about her mother and Duncan. Alessandra had told her daughter very little about him.

 

Once they were clear of the darkspawn they made good progress. The closer they got to Redcliffe the more nervous or wary both Alistair and Jannasilane seemed. Leliana and Jannasilane were a bit ahead of the others, scouting. Leliana smiled to herself, thinking of a conversation she’d had with the young girl next to her. It was before Ostagar and after Zevran’s seduction. In a strange way his callous behavior cemented the growing friendship between the two women.

 

_Leliana kept close to Jannasilane. She knew without being told that Zevran had seduced the younger woman. She could also tell that her friend was hurting and suspected Zevran’s actions simply added a layer of new hurt over the old. What surprised her was that the assassin felt bad about what he had done. She doubted anybody else noticed but she was a trained observer and little things gave him away, such as the way he looked at Jannasilane with only the briefest of glances and started positioning himself to protect her in battle as well as the Warden. He kept his distance but performed little acts of, well, she supposed kindness was as good a word as any; little things such as making sure she had a cup of fresh coffee in the morning or if he found berries he placed them near her but was careful not to have direct contact with her. Leliana knew the elf wasn’t interested in Jannasilane romantically. He probably didn’t realize how often his brooding gaze studied the Warden._

_When they were far enough away from Ostagar they made proper camp for the night. All of them could use the rest. Tensions were high between Jannasilane and Alistair and it was only with a great deal of restraint that she kept herself from snapping at him when he said something about stopping for the night. The redhead was close enough to see that Jannasilane’s eyes, bruised with regret, followed him as he moved away. As soon as they found a good camp site Leliana volunteered her services and those of Jannasilane, to look for firewood and anything which might augment their dinner. Jannasilane trudged along without complaint._

_As soon as the two women were out of earshot of the others Leliana decided it was time to speak, “I am sorry Zevran hurt you, Janna. He seems to be as well, for what that is worth. I hope his actions did not make things more difficult between you and Alistair.”_

_“I, what . . . how did you know? Does everybody know?” Jannasilane’s voice was full of distress and then she shook her head and looked away. “It doesn’t matter, Alistair was already disgusted so I do not see how Zevran could have done more harm.” At Leliana’s sympathetic expression and willingness to listen the whole story came out in a disconnected rush. Everything from the morning Alistair pulled away from her to the ugly truth behind Zevran’s seduction. Leliana wrapped her arms around Jannasilane’s shoulders and laid her cheek against the top of Jannasilane’s head._

_“I am so sorry. I like Alistair and can only hope you misunderstood. I think you are an adorable couple and it always made me smile to look at you. As for Zevran . . .”Leliana sighed, “he is an experienced man in many ways. It is one thing to be with someone and realize it was a mistake; but to be with someone only to be told you were unimportant and not the reason for the seduction . . . that is a blow to anybody’s pride and self-esteem. You certainly did nothing to deserve his cruelty. Alistair knows something, he is still very attuned to you no matter what else he might be feeling. Blake might guess something, he is very clever as well as observant but he is very difficult to read. Those dark grey eyes give very little away.”_

_“I don’t think I’d want to play against him in a card game,” Jannasilane agreed._

_“If you wish to talk any further my tent is always open to you,” Leliana said with a smile. She cocked her head, “Do you ever think about braids or pulling your hair back?” They continued gathering wood while filling the air with feminine chatter._

“Have you noticed that there are fewer birds in the air the closer we get to Redcliffe?” Jannasilane muttered quietly. “Other wildlife seems to be scarcer as well. I don’t think it is because of the darkspawn.”

 

Leliana nodded thoughtfully, “I too have noticed this. Perhaps hunters? Having to go further from home? Not all merchants are as intrepid as our friend, Bodahn.”

 

“Doubt it, but I suppose we’ll know soon enough. I’m beginning to think that if something weird is happening somewhere we’ll be the ones to trip over it,” Blake joined the two women. “If we’re lucky we may reach Redcliffe by tomorrow night but certainly by the day after. I wouldn’t mind a beer or three in the tavern. From what I remember the one in Redcliffe is small but decent.”

 

“I have never had beer, before. I think I would like to try some,” Jannasilane said.

 

“Never?” Blake threw his arm across her shoulders, “I’ll buy the first round then, but you have to promise me something,” he paused until he had her full attention, “if I get drunk you’ll take advantage of me.” He waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer.

 

“You want me to take all your money? Or maybe strand you naked in the yard . . . or I could also -” that was as far as she got before he clapped his hand over her mouth. He shook his head, laughing.

 

“I like the ‘naked in the yard’ idea,” Zevran couldn’t resist chiming in. “Have you ever run over the rooftops in nothing but your skin?” Blake’s eyes practically crossed at the visions conjured up by the Antivan but he wouldn’t look in that direction.

 

Jannasilane looked at him doubtfully, “That doesn’t sound very comfortable.”

 

Zevran was relieved she was speaking to him without cringing, “It was not, Pocket Goddess, of that I can assure you.”

 

Gradually they spread out again. They were making good progress but Blake didn’t think they would reach Redcliffe that night. Inwardly he sighed. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was looking forward to a pint or two. He thought they would all appreciate the opportunity to sleep in a bed that wasn’t on the ground and under a roof which didn’t leak or let the wind blow in to chill them through their bedrolls. Funny about Package, the cold just didn’t seem to bother her, at least not nearly as much as it did the rest of them. For all his size Sten probably suffered the most, even more than Zevran.

 

They set up camp for the night. Alistair was antsy all evening but refused to say what was bothering him so Blake left him alone. He knew the templar well enough by now to know he would tell him soon and that prying would only make him flustered.

 

Alistair knew the time had come to tell Blake the truth, he probably should have done so earlier but he didn’t see how it could possibly have made any difference. He was more concerned about what Jannasilane would think; things were still a bit strained between them. He had a hard time getting to sleep and even then he was troubled. The next morning, before Jannasilane woke he left the tent to find Blake. He nodded curtly to the assassin, whom he just knew had seduced and hurt her, and told Blake they needed to talk.

 

“You know, Alistair, conversations which start with ‘we need to talk’ never turn out well. I’m not going to like this, am I?” Blake demanded.

 

“Well, _I_ never have,” the big blond muttered. “You remember how I told you Arl Eamon took me in, raised me?” Blake just waited silently for him to finish. “He didn’t do it because my mother was a serving maid at Redcliffe Castle but because . . . um,” Alistair closed his eyes and just blurted out the rest, “HediditbecausemyfatherwasKingMaric. There, now you know.”

 

“So you’re not just a bastard, you’re a royal bastard?” Blake snickered then sobered up, “Why didn’t you tell me before now? Don’t you think it was important for me to know?”

 

“Yes, maybe, probably . . . look, you knowing earlier wouldn’t have changed anything. Loghain still would have done what he did and blamed the Grey Wardens. Maybe it was a dumb thing to do but how do you tell somebody something like that?”

 

Blake shook his head, “Nuh-uh, you’ve had plenty of opportunities, Alistair, you just kept quiet. I didn’t think you could do that, to be honest.” Alistair flushed.

 

“Alright, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to treat me differently. I liked being just Alistair. As soon as somebody finds out they change.  Even Duncan didn’t let me go into battle because of it. If it makes any difference, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

 

“I can accept that, my Prince,” Blake smirked at the disgruntled look on his friend’s face. “I suggest you tell Package. You probably should have said something to her first.”

 

What neither of them realized was that Jannasilane heard their entire conversation. The minute Alistair left the tent she was awake. Deciding she wanted some fresh air away from the others she crept out after him and sat behind a rock where she had a good view of forest and the night sky. Of course Alistair and Blake moved there for their tête-à-tête and never knew she was right there. Jannasilane was stunned, _“He’s royalty, a prince . . . no wonder he doesn’t want to be with me anymore. I’m just a commoner and a Griffonsong, not someone a noble could . . . He could have told me . . .”_ She couldn’t continue that thought, it was too painful. What she knew, if she could put it to words, was that the death knell sounded over her still faint hopes for a future with the big sunny warrior.

 

She didn’t move until she was sure they were gone and used that time to compose herself. She peeked around the boulder and saw that people were starting to stir but nobody was looking in her direction. She went back to their tent in a circular fashion and found Alistair waiting inside.

 

“Good, I’m glad you’re here,” Alistair began, “I thought you’d still be asleep, is anything wrong?” She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. He didn’t look as if he quite believed her but knew enough by now not to pry. “Jannasilane, there’s something I need to tell you. I told Blake first because he’s our leader but I also want you to hear it from me before you find out from somebody else. And you probably will once we’re in Redcliffe. My father,” he hesitated, stumbling a little under her serious gaze, “my father wasn’t just some nobody, or even just anybody. H-he was King Maric, which makes Cailan my half-brother, I guess.”

 

Before she could stop herself she blurted out, “And you didn’t trust me enough to tell me before now.” Behind the hurt her eyes accused him.

 

Alistair cringed at the hurt and pain she couldn’t prevent herself from showing, “No, no, no . . . it’s not that. We m-m-may not be as close as w-we were but there’s nobody I trust more. Not even B-blake and I c-couldn’t ask for a better friend. Look, let me try and explain. Arl Eamon raised me but it was made very clear to me early on that I should expect nothing, could hope for nothing, and would be nothing. That in no way, shape or form should I even think of capitalizing on my unfortunate birth. And I’m fine with that. I don’t know why anybody would even _want_ to be king. But when people know they treat me differently. Instead of Alistair I’m the bastard prince and they either resent me because of it or worse treat me special. I liked being just Alistair, somebody who recently joined the Grey Wardens. With the Grey Wardens I finally felt I could make my way just as myself. At Soldier’s Peak,” he closed his eyes for a moment, this was as close as they had ever come to talking about her revelations, “I completely understood why you wanted a few days before t-telling me, us, everything. But it looks as if my birth is going to follow me wherever I go, whatever I do,” he said bitterly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I’m sorry I hurt you,” he hoped she understood he was apologizing for more than just his secrecy.

 

“I understand, though I wish you told me earlier, because you felt comfortable rather than because you couldn’t avoid it,” she answered finally. They were both silent for a few minutes until some of the tension dissipated. Jannasilane smiled weakly, “I never thought that one day I would sleep with a prince.” Alistair’s smile was pained, but he appreciated her attempt to lighten the mood. Before she left the tent she looked at him more seriously, “Alistair, I . . .” She shook her head and left her thoughts unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life is keeping me pretty busy these days so I am not able to add chapters with the same regularity as I have been. Hopefully this will only be a couple months. Thanks.


	25. Redcliffe at Last

They came upon the sturdy little house overlooking Redcliffe village. Alistair tortured himself with a brief vision of children playing in the yard while he fixed the roof and Jannasilane did something in the garden before Blake’s elbow nudged him. “Sorry, memories. I wonder where the family is who lived here, the place looks abandoned.”

 

Jannasilane was poking around and trying to see inside. “It has not been empty for long, Alistair. It is a nice house and obviously well-maintained. From what I can see there is not enough dust for them to have left a long time ago.” She then wandered over to the wall and looked down, “I like the view of the village. You can see almost everything from here and are close without being too close. Something is not right,” she frowned thoughtfully.

 

The Wardens and Leliana joined her and studied the picturesque scene in front of them. “Where are the children? Is it usually so quiet, Alistair?” the redhead softly inquired.

 

“You’re right; there should be a lot more activity this time of day. I remember that the yard in front of the Chantry was always busy with kids running around while men and women stopped to talk. See how a lot of the houses face the yard? There should be people going about their business but instead it looks all closed up. We need to find out what’s happening,” Alistair concluded.

 

Blake nodded towards the little bridge they’d have to cross, “I daresay that man will tell us.” They moved in that direction.

 

The man on sentry duty was more than a little nervous, “Have you come to help us with our troubles?” he asked with a hint of desperation. Blake’s answer that they’d heard the Arl was sick was met with a nervous outburst, “He could be dead for all we know! Nobody’s been able to get into the castle for days and at night we’re attacked.”

 

“Well that's just typical, isn't it?" Zevran remarked sardonically.

 

“What’s attacking you?” Alistair was blunt. The man, Tomas, took them to Bann Teagan for answers.

 

Bann Teagan was a comfortably attractive man with reddish hair and blue eyes. Jannasilane thought he must normally smile judging by the crinkles at his eyes and lines around his mouth. Right now he looked tired and harassed but was still polite to the strangers coming his way even as he demanded to know who they were. Before Blake could answer Alistair spoke up, “You remember me, Bann Teagan? Though the last time we saw each other I think I was covered in mud.”

 

The smile that lit up Teagan’s face made more than one of the women in the party take notice. Jannasilane was happy to see a friend of Alistair’s. “Alistair! You’re alive, this **is** good news. I thought all the Grey Wardens died at Ostagar along with my nephew.” He turned to Blake then, “You look familiar, ser, but I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Bann Teagan, Arl Eamon’s brother and Cailan’s uncle.” He held out his hand and Blake grasped it in a quick, firm handshake.

 

“You probably knew my father, Teyrn Cousland,” he replied with a smile. It was getting easier for him to say his father’s name without cringing inwardly or outwardly. “What seems to be happening here, Bann Teagan?”

 

Teagan then described Eamon’s illness which was eventually followed by nightly attacks on the village. They didn’t know what was causing them, only that the dead seemed to rise and each night there were more attackers than the previous one.

 

“Demon,” Jannasilane sighed.

 

“The toy is most likely correct,” Morrigan reluctantly agreed.

 

Wynne shook her head, “I’m afraid that is the most likely explanation.”

 

Bann Teagan looked from one woman to the other before settling his attention on Jannasilane. “I don’t understand how this could have happened but I daresay your experience is greater than mine. This is the first time I’ve faced such an unnatural situation.”

 

“Ha, it seems to be an amazingly common occurrence for us. When this Blight is over we could probably go into the demon busting business if all else fails,” Blake said drily. He questioned Teagan more closely and made some decisions. “Package, you stay here and talk to Teagan and the others in the Chantry. Maybe you can get some more details from people. I also want you to see if there’s any way to shore up the defenses in here. We’ll do our best, of course, to make sure none of the monsters get through but just in case . . .” He motioned the rest of them to leave the Chantry. Alistair looked back and scowled to see Jannasilane and Teagan with their heads close together. Blake elbowed him to get his attention, “She appears to be in _very good_ hands, Alistair, and so does he. You don’t have any claim on her, remember?” Alistair flushed at the uncomfortable truth in that statement.

 

“Bann Teagan,” Teagan looked down at the young woman speaking to him, “has you or anybody else tried leaving to get help?”

 

“I cannot leave the villagers, my lady, there are precious few fighters left to defend them and we are trying to train the remaining villagers to defend themselves but it is no easy task. I suppose they will have to consider this practice for the battles which lie ahead with the darkspawn, if one can truly be prepared for them. Some did try to leave during the day, but we found out they were attacked as well.  It’s as if someone; some _thing_ wants this village and every one in it dead. I will continue to stay here in the Chantry as a last defense for the women and children. Ser Perth and Murdock can reach me at any time and I have complete confidence in their abilities. Ser Perth has been a knight in Eamon’s service for several years; recently he returned from his quest for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Do you know of this?”

 

“I have heard something of the quest,” Jannasilane replied cautiously. “We met one of your knights in Lothering before it fell.”

 

“Yes . . . I don’t know if it was a wise decision but Isolde was growing desperate and she’s a pious woman. She hired another tutor for Connor, their nine year old son, some months ago. Eamon fell ill well before the loss at Ostagar and I do not look forward to telling him of that or what has happened. The attacks by the walking dead began just a few nights ago. Are you a Grey Warden as well, my lady? Is that how you met Alistair?” He thought she looked rather young to be travelling without her family, much less a Grey Warden but he wasn’t sure. He was sure only that she was charming and attractive in a rather exotic fashion. He was fascinated by her hair which seemed almost a living creature the way it flowed around her.

 

“No, I’m no Warden, though my father was. I met Blake and Alistair between Ostagar and Lothering while having a mild disagreement with some rather annoying darkspawn. I have traveled with them since. Do you have a family of your own, other than Eamon?” she couldn’t help asking. She liked being around the older man, not because he was attractive but because even though he was obviously in a difficult situation he still exuded an aura of good nature.

 

Teagan was a bit startled and a bit flattered by the question, “Oh, you mean am I married . . . well, no though I would consider myself fortunate indeed to have found someone as lovely and charming as yourself.” He was pleased with the blush he caused and continued, “Dare I ask what of you, my lady, surely there is someone awaiting your return?”

 

Jannasilane hesitated as she thought how to answer and if Teagan hadn’t been looking so closely he would have missed the sorrow or regret which briefly flashed in the back of her eyes. “No, I suppose you could say I am bound to helping the Grey Wardens but that is all.”

 

“I find that difficult to believe, but please forgive my boldness, my lady,” he gave her a shallow bow.

 

“There is nothing to forgive, Bann Teagan, and please just call me Jannasilane. I’m no lady of noble birth,” she added, flattered by his attentions.

 

“You are a lady in every way that matters and I will only call you Jannasilane if you dispense with the title and simply call me Teagan. I can’t think what else I can tell you of these attacks. There seem to be more of them with each onslaught and I fear tonight will be the worse yet. Have you truly had much experience with demons? I find it difficult to believe that one so young could be so battle-hardened. Could it possibly be something else at the root of this evil?”

 

“It, I can only say it feels like a demon instead of a necromancer or blood mage or anything else. I’ll know better tonight when the attack comes,” she shrugged with a nonchalance earned only by someone who was indeed very experienced in the area. Teagan was impressed and intrigued.

 

Blake, Alistair and Zevran approached Murdock. The others were busy seeing what else was available to help in defense of the village. They would meet in front of the windmill where Ser Perth stood watch before returning to the Chantry. After speaking to the rather taciturn mayor they opted to approach the dwarf he spoke of and try to enlist his help. Zevran decided it was time to stir the waters, “What do you know of this Bann Teagan, Alistair? Is he a good man?”

 

“Ye-e-es,” Alistair replied slowly, “When I was little and living in Redcliffe he always had a kind word and would sneak me treats when Isolde was being particularly unfriendly. Why do you want to know? He’s not going to be interested in you, you know. You are definitely not his type,” he added snidely.

 

“Oh, I was not thinking of myself,” the elf was cheerful. “I merely wondered if he was good enough for the pocket goddess. It looked to me as if he was well on the way to being quite taken with her abundant charms.” When Alistair glowered at him he feigned astonishment, “Do you not think so? Well, perhaps I am wrong. It would be a good match in Antiva.”

 

Blake decided to help stir the pot, “Have to agree with Zevran on this one. Teagan is well-respected as much for his affability as his basic common sense and I never saw him lacking for female companionship. Elissa had a crush on him, heck, so did I at one point. Thankfully he never knew about either of us. One of the joys of being awkward is that social ineptitude can cover a variety of sins as long as it isn’t too obvious and doesn’t go on for too long,” he gave a pointed stare at Alistair.

 

“Humph,” Alistair grunted but said nothing that would give either of them an excuse to make fun of him anymore.

 

“Eloquent as always my stalwart friend,” Zevran rolled his eyes and turned his attention to their leader. “So, you like older men, do you? I cannot envision you being awkward, Warden. On the other hand I can see how you might be taken by a likeable and mature man, such as your Bann Teagan.”

 

“My tastes have changed since I was a growing boy,” Blake let his eyes linger over the Antivan for a moment, his meaning quite clear. Then he grinned, “Don’t worry, Alistair, we’re not going to a wedding any time soon. Even Teagan doesn’t work that fast.” Blake didn’t miss the flush of anger staining the other man’s cheeks and mentally smiled to himself. There was more than one way to kick some sense into that stubborn head. He wasn’t going to let Alistair keep hurting Package with his indecisiveness. He knocked on Dwyn’s door, effectively ending the conversation.

 

By the time they met back in the Chantry all had been done that could be done. Blake charmed some amulets from Mother Hannah for Ser Perth and his knights; Ser Perth was setting up the oil in order to set the creatures aflame; Dwyn and Lloyd were both convinced to fight and Owen was busy at his forge once again. Teagan and Jannasilane were chattering like old friends, which thrilled Morrigan and irritated Alistair. As far as the witch was concerned Teagan was as good as Riordan for her purposes. “Bann Teagan, we’re as set for tonight as we can be. Now we just need to decide how best we can deploy our services,” Blake said.

 

“Teagan told me that the attacks have mostly been coming from near the bridge where we met Tomas. I do not know if that is because they lack the numbers to divide their efforts or the intelligence to do so. It might also be that the farther from the demon they are the less control it has over its victims,” Jannasilane concluded.

 

_“Teagan, is it? They certainly got friendly fast,”_ Alistair thought but didn’t say anything.

 

Teagan looked at the young woman he knew he could become very fond of, “Why do you call them victims?”

 

Jannasilane was surprised, “Are they not? They were men and women who served your brother and died in that service. Now their bodies, instead of being treated with respect are being used to hurt their friends, neighbors, even family members. Surely this would not be their wish. I know we need to stop them but when all is over should we not remember this?”

 

Blake brushed his hand over her hair but it was Alistair who spoke, “You’re right, Janna, they’ve been victimized twice.” Alistair’s gaze was warm when it rested on her. She flushed at the expression in his eyes and then turned away, confused.

 

_“Oh-ho, so that’s the way of it. What did Alistair do to make her think there was nothing there? Idiot,”_ he thought with more fondness than Morrigan had when she thought of Alistair as such. Then Teagan sighed, he liked Jannasilane and had hoped to convince her to stay in Redcliffe awhile. Before he fell ill Eamon had been hinting that it was past time he found a wife and had children of his own. He never told his brother that he found Isolde the best argument against marriage. These thoughts flashed through his brain quickly and never showed in his expression. “I look forward to discussing this with you in more detail after the battle, Jannasilane,” he smiled warmly at his new friend and then turned to Blake. “Do you have any ideas, Warden?”

 

Blake’s eyes were dancing with suppressed mirth even as he answered soberly, “Alistair, Morrigan, Leliana and I will wait with Ser Perth. Sten, you’ll station yourself on that end of the defenders here and Zevran over here at this end. General Lee will be in the middle at the front. The archers will have no trouble shooting over him. Wynne, I want you to stay back and keep everybody healthy. Package, I want you on the porch. If any get this far you’re quick enough to take care of them before they can get inside. And if you get surrounded your voice will still them long enough for help to get to you.”

 

Teagan took offense at that, “Warden, I don’t think insults are necessary. The Lady Jannasilane is a lovely young woman and it is ill-mannered of you to suggest that her voice is some sort of horror.”

 

The others looked at him in surprise and then some started chuckling, which simply confused the Bann. Even Jannasilane was smiling. She took his hand and her smile increased in warmth, “Thank you, Teagan, for defending me, but in this case no insult was intended. Blake was not speaking of my normal voice,” at this she sniffed and raised an eyebrow at the still smirking rogue, “at least he better not mean that.” Blake tilted his head at her and she turned her gaze back to the Bann whose hand she was still holding, “I have this ability, a particular kind of shout, which can have a paralyzing or stunning ability on those close to me. Alistair calls it a directed shriek. You would not appreciate a demonstration.”

 

Teagan bowed and kissed the back of her hand, “if you say no insult was meant then I take back my rebuke. I admit it is hard for me to fathom such an unattractive sound as you describe coming from such a lovely throat.”

 

Alistair was trying very hard not to grit his teeth, but it was hard when he wanted to grab her away from the older man and declare that she was his. He was definitely ready when Blake signaled it was time for them to join the knights at the windmill but Leliana and Morrigan didn’t improve his mood when they both started sighing over Teagan. “It was so romantic, how quickly Bann Teagan came to her defense when he thought she was being insulted. So many men look and sound foolish when they say something like that.”

 

“For once I agree,” Morrigan’s participation surprised the others. “I think perhaps it was because of the sincerity behind his remarks. I daresay he is not one to indulge in idle flattery and he certainly seems taken by the toy.”

 

“Ser Perth!” Blake called before Alistair could explode. He knew it was probably wrong to take such amusement from his friend’s predicament, but he would be the first to admit he wasn’t perfect. “We’ll be here with you.” The knight was glad to see them and they settled down to wait for the next siege. They didn’t have long to wait.

 

In the middle of the village the others waited. When evening came the villagers not fighting entered the Chantry. Jannasilane verified with Bann Teagan that all were accounted for and slipped back outside to resume her position the porch so she could better search the growing shadows. Lloyd moved to stand next to Jannasilane; he hadn’t met her before and was curious. She was curvy like Bella and since she wasn’t wearing armor like the redhead he decided she was probably some strumpet following the Grey Wardens who happened to be handy with a blade. In Lloyd’s world strumpets were good for a squeeze and a quick tumble in the back room or alley, nothing more. “So, you travel with the Grey Wardens, must be kind of exciting,” he said without looking at her. “Guess it’s handy for them to have a girl like you around, nice and friendly.” He glanced down at her to see her looking perplexed. _“Silly tart, thinks she can pull the innocent act on me,”_ he continued to look at her, “You are friends right, good friends? Maybe if we survive I could show you a few things at the tavern, stuff I keep in the back unless someone comes in who travels around like you do,” he added with grin that was halfway to a leer. Fortunately for him it was too dark for her to see him that well.

 

Jannasilane didn’t care for him and thought he had an unusual way of talking but answered politely, “Yes, we are good friends. If there is time perhaps I will look at your stock.” She didn’t say anything else but did breathe more easily when he moved away. _“That was odd, I wonder if I missed something. Perhaps I should talk to Leliana or Blake.”_ She shrugged and forgot all about it when they heard the sounds of battle at the top of the hill. Everybody was quickly too busy to think of anything but fighting the corpses coming their way.


	26. The Source of the Plague

At his request Jannasilane accompanied Bann Teagan to the windmill after the night’s fighting gave way to victory with dawn’s arrival. “‘Twould appear your Bann is smitten with your toy, Warden,” Morrigan addressed Blake rather than Alistair as she rubbed salt into the templar’s wounds. She noticed the fool watching Teagan walk away with the toy’s arm in his and his wince at her words. “She seems to enjoy his company as well.”

 

“Yes, so it appears,” Blake answered mildly, hiding his annoyance, _“Maker, when will she cut herself on that tongue of hers? She’s got enough venom to fell an entire division of darkspawn.”_ He looked at the witch then, “Why do you keep calling her a toy?”

 

“Why do _you_ keep calling her ‘Package?’” Morrigan demanded and moved away so she wouldn’t have to answer any more asinine questions.

 

 _“Walked right into that one,”_ Blake knew it was pointless to pursue the argument and was annoyed with himself for even bringing it up. Package was more than capable of dealing with Morrigan if she chose. “I suggest in a few minutes we meet Bann Teagan. If you need healing, take care of it. I need to talk to a few people first.”

 

“It is beautiful and looks so peaceful from here,” Jannasilane commented with her gaze on the lake and the castle, mountains in the distance.

 

“Even more so today,” Teagan answered with his eyes on the young woman standing next to him. “I owe you and the Wardens an apology, Jannasilane.” He waited until she was looking at him, questions in her intriguing eyes. “I know a way into the castle but I didn’t tell the Warden. I will when he and the others arrive, but I wanted to apologize to you first. I feel we’ve become friends even in such a short period of time and I don’t like that I lied to you.”

 

“I feel the same, Teagan, but why did you not tell us this before?” she was curious but not upset.

 

“Yes, I’d like to know that as well,” Blake’s tone was as dry as the ashes from the fires burning the corpses from last night.

 

“Forgive me, Warden, but I knew you would want to go into the castle immediately and I have a duty to protect the villagers. Thanks to you and your companions we can safely leave them while we find out what is wrong with Eamon or if any even survive. There is a -” his attention was diverted by somebody calling his name.

 

They all looked towards the woman running towards Teagan, obviously a noblewoman by her dress and Orlesian by her accent. She ignored the strangers as she placed herself close to Teagan and put her hands on his arm in a pleading gesture, “Teagan, I am so glad you are alive. You must come with me, Connor . . . Connor needs you. Please, Teagan, I beg of you.”

 

“Isolde! We were afraid everybody was dead, how is my brother?” Teagan demanded.

 

“He is alive, so far. An evil force has invaded the castle and is keeping him alive from the poison infecting him for now, as long as we do what he says. But you must hurry Teagan, I do not have much time,” She was unaware that her fingers were digging into his arm.

 

“Poison, you say Eamon was poisoned? How?” Teagan hadn’t expected that.

 

“The tutor we hired for Connor, he was a, how you say, an infiltrator. He poisoned my husband and, but I must return.” She was becoming incoherent.

 

Blake spoke up then, “Yes, I think we should go and introduce ourselves. Is it a demon?”

 

“A d-demon, Maker no! Teagan must come alone, if I bring back anybody else Eamon might die and Connor . . .”

 

“You’re hiding something,” Jannasilane spoke up for the first time since the other woman first flew down the path. Her eyes were flat as she stared up at Isolde.

 

Isolde reared back and looked down her nose at the young woman standing next to Teagan, “I beg your pardon that is a rather impertinent thing to say. Who is this woman, these people, Teagan?” the flash in her eyes betrayed her arrogance.

 

“Not impertinent if it’s true,” Blake said.

 

At the same time Alistair responded with a deep sigh, “You remember me, Lady Isolde?”

 

“Alistair!” The pure dislike in her voice caused Jannasilane to stiffen with outrage as the woman continued, “Of all the – what are _you_ doing here?”

 

Teagan hurriedly interrupted, “Isolde, Alistair and his friends saved the village. We would all be dead by now if it weren’t for them.”

 

“I beg your pardon,” dismissively she turned back to her brother-in-law, “Teagan, please, we must hurry.”

 

“Very well, wait by the gate. I must talk to the Warden privately,” Teagan directed her. Pleased she was getting her way Isolde left them, admonishing Teagan once again to hurry. Shaking his head Teagan waited until she was out of earshot before speaking, “I must go. But I have no illusions about being able to deal with whatever is there alone. Warden, take my ring, it opens a secret door in the windmill and a passage into the castle. If you choose to go Ser Perth will wait at the gates for you to open them. Whatever you find inside Eamon is the priority. Me, Connor, the rest of us are expendable.”

 

“No, we will find a way,” Jannasilane protested.

 

Teagan smiled at her resignedly, “The Maker smiled on me indeed when he sent you here. If only,” he quickly turned away to join Isolde and go to the castle.

 

“We’ll do our best, Package. Too many have died for us not to try and save as many as we can,” Blake said quietly with a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him gratefully and then snickered when he added, “besides, I want to see Isolde pay for whatever she’s done. I’ll bet you a pound of candied nuts that she’s involved somehow. Sten, I’d like you, General Lee and Leliana to stay here in the village. Some of our weapons and armor need to be repaired and now that Owen is back in business you can get it done while we are at the castle. Leliana, keep an eye on Berwick. I don’t want him leaving Redcliffe.” He led the rest of them into the windmill and down the secret passage.

 

“Why would somebody build a tunnel under the lake?” Morrigan wanted to know.

 

“Many castles have secret escape tunnels for the family in case of attack, my lovely Morrigan. In my line of work I have frequently found them to be handy entrance tunnels,” Zevran answered. “And may I say that I am glad your loveliness is with us to banish the gloom. May I hold on to you? I get scared in dank cellars.”

 

“More idle flattery,” she snorted, though not as strongly as before.

 

It took a little while to get to the other end of the tunnel and the going was a little slippery on the way down. Jannasilane started to giggle the third time somebody slipped. “You think it’s funny for us to be falling down, Package?” Blake growled with a mock glower.

 

“No, no, I was just thinking it would be fun to slide down. Sit on top of a greased shield and go.”

 

Blake grinned, “Sure, give us your shield, Alistair. Package can go first.”

 

“Will you two be serious?” Wynne admonished.

 

“You ask for the impossible, old mage,” Morrigan snorted. “They probably haven’t considered that the tunnel is likely not straight and they would run into a wall or that coming back up would be that much more difficult.” She refused to acknowledge the small voice in the back of her mind telling her that it would be fun.

 

“Have you ever been sledding, Morrigan?” Jannasilane asked. “There was a hill not far from our farm and sometimes my father would take me there after a snow, the proper type of snow, and we would sit on top of a large, round wooden shield he polished beforehand and let it take us down. Each time was faster than before.”

 

Morrigan didn’t answer at first and when she did she sounded a bit wistful, “I can see where that might be fun, however Flemeth was not into games or doing anything for simple amusement. She might make a game out of a necessity when I was a child but everything was a lesson in survival or furthering my studies.” Her voice turned brisk, “My skills are probably more advanced because of it and have proven quite useful so I won’t say I regret it.” The last thing she wanted was any sympathy.

 

“I’ve been sledding,” Wynne interjected. The others looked at her in surprise and she couldn’t help chuckling, “I haven’t always been an old woman, I was once young and adventurous like you.”

 

“Did you have your magical bosom then?” Zevran asked slyly.

 

“ _Stop_ talking about my bosom,” she huffed. “Now what . . . oh yes, sledding. I was at the Circle, a little younger than you, Janna, and it was a very cold winter. Lake Calenhad froze for possibly the first time – certainly the only time in my memory, and then it snowed day and night. When it stopped the world as I knew it was truly beautiful dressed in nature’s magic. I forget who started it but soon many of us were sledding down the hill and over the lake. Even some of the younger templars.” She chuckled at the memory, “It was fun, the cold air blowing into our faces and hair. The difficult walk back was part of the enjoyment. Of course, all things must end and one of the more recent apprentices lost some control and sparks flew like lightning until the snow on both the lake and the hill around the Circle was alight with electricity, dangerous but incredibly beautiful. The Maker himself probably saw us, or so we said. Fortunately enough older mages were supervising and nobody was hurt. We were all hustled inside to stand near warm fires and drink hot tea or cider. I don’t think any of us ever forgot that day so many years ago.” She smiled at the memory, the young girl she was peeking at her companions through the face of the old woman.

 

“You truly enjoy the cold, Pocket Goddess, it is hard for me to understand,” Zevran shook his head.

 

Jannasilane lifted her head proudly, “I am Fereldan.”

 

“Well said, Package, though you may like the cold more than most. We’re almost near the end, I wonder if the climb up will be as long as the climb down on the other end,” Blake mused. Slowly they made their way to the top, Alistair in the rear so he wouldn’t crush anybody if he slipped and fell. Morrigan muttered something about him being a clumsy oaf but there wasn’t much heat in it since she was having a hard time herself. Only Jannasilane seemed unaffected and practically pranced her way uphill. “Package, I swear you must be part mountain goat,” Blake grouched. When she just grinned at him his eyes narrowed, “or perhaps it’s because you’re so short the ground thinks you’ve already fallen.” She wrinkled her nose and lightly danced to the top as if mocking him.

 

Unfortunately that was the last bit amusement for some time. Jowan, the sorrowful mage, confirmed that Loghain tricked him into poisoning Eamon, saying the Arl was a threat to the nation. He offered to help any way he could and after Jannasilane confirmed the mage was telling the truth Blake decided to let him out of his cell with the proviso he assist any way he could and stay out of the way. Jowan was grateful not to be further harassed by reanimated corpses and to be out of his cell but he was not going to get any closer to the barefoot girl traveling with the Wardens. He admitted to himself that she rather creeped him out when she stared at him.

 

The bad part of getting closer to the demon causing havoc was its ability to call on stronger aid in the form of other demons instead of relying on the minimal skills of the walking dead. They fought their way through to the gates so Ser Perth and his knights could reinforce their group. Quickly they cleared the castle yard and made their way inside.

 

“By the Maker!” Ser Perth was aghast. None of them expected to see Teagan cavorting and chortling like a fool while a demon-child grinned and a defeated Isolde looked on. ‘Connor’ motioned Teagan to cease while he talked to his new guests. The Bann squatted at his nephew’s side like a well-trained dog though those close enough could see the struggle in his eyes.

 

“We’ve come to put a stop to you and the trouble you’re causing.” Connor-demon’s reaction to Blake’s announcement was to pit Teagan and the castle guards against Blake, Ser Perth and those accompanying him and then run away. Those under the demon’s thrall had the advantage; they weren’t trying to avoid serious damage to those they were attacking. Isolde tried to shrink into a corner while wringing her hands helplessly. When Teagan sliced open Jannasilane’s leg Alistair practically threw him against the wall. Teagan slumped into a pile on the stone floor. In desperation Jannasilane shrieked to try to disorient those enthralled and hoped she didn’t hurt anybody too much in the confined space.

 

It worked, the fighting stopped and quickly as she could she limped to Teagan’s side where he was starting to stir. When Isolde rushed over, crying, “Teagan, Teagan,” Jannasilane snarled at her, growled really, stopping the Orlesian mid-step. She turned back to the Bann and helped him to his feet. Alistair watched, brooded and pouted, but he didn’t interfere.

 

“It’s good to be myself again,” Teagan started to say and rubbed the back of his head. He saw the blood on Jannasilane’s leg, “You’re hurt!” He picked her up and deposited her on a bench so he could examine the wound more closely. Wynne’s ears were still ringing but she moved to the Bann’s side.

 

“Don’t worry, Bann Teagan, it’s a clean cut and easily mended,” she reassured Teagan as well as the Wardens.

 

“Good thing she’s faster than you were,” Alistair grunted. He didn’t think about Teagan’s reaction to his statement but a small part of him, one he wasn’t proud of, was happy at the other man’s obvious dismay.

 

Teagan paled, “ _I’m_ the one who hurt you? I’m so sorry, Jannasilane, you have to know that’s the last thing I would want to do. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

 

“Do not fret, Teagan,” she smiled as Wynne sent some healing energy into her. “It is not your fault but the fault of that demon inside Connor. Besides,” Jannasilane glared at Alistair for his insensitivity, “one cannot travel with Grey Wardens fighting darkspawn without incurring damage at times.”

 

“Speaking of Connor, he’s the danger you’ve been hiding,” Blake turned on Isolde. “I knew you were involved with the troubles here but I didn’t think you would let a demon kill all these people. Where is Arl Eamon and where is Connor? Start talking now, _Arlessa_ ,” his voice was as cold as Wynne’s frozen lake.

 

Isolde puffed up with outrage at his tone but one look at Teagan, sitting by that, that impertinent _girl_ and looking at her with narrowed eyes told her she would get no help from him. “I did not summon a demon, it was that mage. First he poisoned my husband and then the demons came. All I wanted was to keep my son home instead of sending him to the Circle, which Eamon would do if he knew. Was that such a terrible thing?” she cried.

 

“And Eamon knew nothing?” Teagan asked watching her closely.

 

“If he knew he would only insist on doing ‘the right thing,’ but why is it the right thing to send a child away from home?” she asked bitterly.

 

“I think recent events have answered that question,” Blake said pointedly. After more wailing and deflections from Isolde they finally got the whole story. Connor showed signs of being a mage and she didn’t want to send her little boy to the Circle. Loghain said he knew of a mage looking for a tutoring position and she leapt at the chance. The tutor began teaching Connor a little magic and poisoned her husband. Somehow Connor made contact with a demon and the demon was keeping her husband alive but at a terrible price. “Connor is not always like what you saw, sometimes his true self is able to come through and that is why he ran away. Please, you must help him,” she was practically incoherent.

 

“I’m sorry, my lady, Connor is an abomination now,” Jowan spoke up from the back. Bravely he moved forward to face the woman he wronged, “if somebody could go into the Fade and fight then there might be a chance to save him, but not much of one. But that would take lots of lyrium and several mages or . . . or blood magic. I know a ritual. It uses the life force of another, but it’s not a very good option since it uses the entire life source.”

 

Lady Isolde stood straight and firm when she answered, “Then take mine. He is my son and I will not let him die.”

 

“How can more blood magic be a good thing?” Alistair asked in irritation.

 

“Alistair is right; The Circle owes me a favor so we’ll ask them. Some of us will stay here with Jowan and keep an eye on Connor,” Blake decided.

 

“Please hurry, Warden. I don’t know how long we have before the demon becomes active again,” Teagan was concerned about Connor, about Eamon and balancing the needs of Redcliffe against their lives. He hoped he didn’t end up regretting the delay but felt he owed his brother at least that much.


	27. Waiting for the Mages

Jannasilane sighed. She already missed her Wardens and they were hardly out of sight. She didn’t regret missing another trip to the Circle, however. Just the thought of going back made her shudder. “Are you alright? Is your leg bothering you? I am so, so sorry I hurt you,” Teagan put his arm around her shoulders and helped her to a chair. He insisted on propping up her hurt leg and examining the wound to make sure it was healing.

 

She shook her head, “Teagan, I told you, I’m fine. It wasn’t your fault and I don’t blame you.”

 

Teagan patted her leg and looked her in the eye, “Maybe I like the excuse to touch you. You have very pretty legs and I feel guilty that I had any part in hurting them.” He lightly trailed his fingers over her ankle before removing them.

 

“Are you flirting with me, Teagan?” Jannasilane couldn’t help asking with wide eyes and a light blush.

 

“You are an interesting and attractive woman as well as a friend. Would you prefer that I stop?” he waited intently for her answer.

 

She tilted her head and considered what he was saying. “I think I would like to learn more about flirting. I also think you flatter me but I do not think I mind,” she answered him.

 

His mouth quirked just a bit at that, “The first thing you should learn is not to argue with a man when he calls you attractive.” He kissed the back of her hand and sat down next to her, close but not touching. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question? It’s rather soon but in these uncertain times I don’t want to wait until a more proper moment which might never come.”

 

She chewed her lip as she thought how to answer him, “I might not want to answer but I will not know if you do not ask.”

 

“Fair enough.” He just sat there looking at her for a few minutes, “you have the most extraordinary hair, it just begs a man to bury his hands in it,” he murmured half to himself. She blushed but didn’t say anything. “Is there a chance we could be together or are you in love with Alistair?” he asked bluntly. “I know he hurt you.”

 

“I think perhaps we hurt each other,” Jannasilane spoke slowly. “We were close but I do not know if I even understand enough to answer your question. I miss our friendship very much and hope that in time we can be friends again even though nothing more.” She took a deep breath before answering the other part of his query, “I do like you Teagan, and I find you attractive but I can make you no promises, not even the most basic ones. I explained as much to Alistair. Whether this is partly why he wants nothing more from me I cannot say. My duty and my destiny for the next few years lie with the Grey Wardens, which at the moment is Alistair, Blake and Riordan.”

 

“I’ve always been fond of Alistair but right now I think he’s a fool,” he twined a lock of her hair around his finger, marveling at the texture and sense of life. He looked her in the eye, “I would enjoy a more intimate relationship even if it’s just for now and count myself the richer for it.” Her eyes widened and she blushed but didn’t look or move away when he leaned in to kiss her, lightly at first. The pulse in her neck started to beat more rapidly and she leaned into him deepening their kiss. A few minutes later she broke away from him, confused by her response. Teagan let her go and watched the battle she waged within herself play out across her face. “I am not a fool, my dear, nor am I a raw boy with a simple outlook on the relations between a man and a woman. I will be honored if you decide to pursue this part of our friendship further, but I won’t hold it against you if you do not. Remember this; I will **always** be your friend.” He took his leave after squeezing her hand and giving her a promise to return after a room was made ready for her.

 

Jannasilane watched him leave, his stride confident and sure. She touched her fingers to her lips, reliving their kiss. She was a bit surprised but glad that he didn’t press her further. She believed him when he said he would be fine with her decision no matter what it turned out to be. _“If Alistair and I had never . . . Even though I know it is over with Alistair I still want to be with him. When will it stop? Zevran, Zevran was a mistake even if he weren’t just playing some sort of game. I used to dream about one day, a few years from now, being able to make a promise to a man. I suppose it was stupid to think there was a chance for Alistair and I to stay together. How can I still want him and yet feel attracted to Teagan? Is this a sign that my Time will be more severe? No, I can’t. I do not want to be that person. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. But would it be wrong?”_ She groaned and dropped her head onto her knees. _“I think my head is going to spin off if I think on this any further. Connor-demon is quiet, maybe I shall go see what Lloyd has to offer. I doubt there is anything of interest to the Wardens in his back room but it is better than making myself crazy.”_ She spoke to Jowan and verified that Connor was quiet and likely to remain so for a while.

 

“You’re in a suspiciously good mood, Alistair,” Blake eyed him thoughtfully. “Is it getting away from Package or Isolde that lifted your spirits?” First Enchanter Irving agreed to help them try to free Connor from the demon’s grasp even though Knight-Commander Greagoir didn’t like it. Soon Wynne, Leliana, the First Enchanter and one of the senior templars would be returning by boat to Redcliffe so they could help prepare for the rest of the mages and to reassess the situation. More templars and mages would be returning with the Wardens and Sten while Morrigan opted to make her own arrangements.

 

“Both,” Alistair answered cheerfully to Blake’s surprise. They were combing the Tower for supplies and just to make sure no stray demon remained behind. Blake was also looking for a grimoire which reputedly once belonged to Flemeth, though he wasn’t sure if he would give it to Morrigan even if he did find it. “I really miss her,” before Blake could make any smart comments he clarified, “Jannasilane, not Isolde. Maker, I’ll be happy if I never see _her_ again.” Blake bit back a chuckle at the relief in Alistair’s voice. He didn’t like Isolde any more than the warrior did and wondered how Package was faring. He’d put his money on Package any day of the week. Alistair haltingly continued his explanation, “I know how I feel about Jannasilane, now. I was worried that, because of, you know, I didn’t feel what I thought I felt, that her mere presence blinded me. I love her. There are still some issues but at least I can think of moving forward now. I just hope she doesn’t hate me.”

 

“Took you long enough to come to that conclusion,” Blake said sternly. “What other issues are there?”

 

Alistair looked around and thought about telling him, getting his advice but they heard footsteps and he remembered that the Circle Tower wasn’t a good place for discussing secrets, especially ones not his own. “Later, it’s personal and there are too many ears in the mages’ Circle.”

 

“I hope you don’t mean that literally, you just gave me a vision of ears floating from floor to floor, gathering secrets like a bird gathers twigs for its nest. And then there are eyeballs looking for papers and secret hideouts,” Blake could have gone on and on but Alistair stopped him.

 

“That’s enough creepy, thank you for sharing,” Alistair rolled his eyes. “I’ll be glad to leave here,” he muttered.

 

Jannasilane’d made her decision. She was leaving with Riordan. He was in the process of resupplying from whatever stores were available at the tavern and the castle and would be leaving first thing in the morning. Blake, Alistair and the others wouldn’t be back from the Circle until late the next evening at the earliest. Perhaps she was being a coward but she couldn’t stand any longer the cold shoulder she was getting from Alistair, broken by the occasional glimpse of former warmth. They’d see each other in Denerim and maybe he would be able to talk to her more like he used to. She missed the days of their friendship.

 

“Stealing from the Arl is a flogging offense,” Teagan’s pleasant voice startled Jannasilane into jumping up, banging her knee in the process. Teagan came around the desk in Eamon’s study, effectively sandwiching her between it and him. “Letters to Blake and Alistair, why don’t you just talk to them when they return? They won’t be gone long,” he sat down effectively blocking her escape. He eyed her with obvious appreciation; his eyes positively gleamed with desire when she licked her lips nervously. “I can’t get over how exciting your hair is, how sensual and alive,” he whispered and slid his hands to the back of her head and began massaging her scalp, bringing her head closer to his when she moaned in pleasure. “I would very much like to be with you tonight, if you have no objection, my lady,” he nibbled on her ear.

 

Jannasilane enjoyed the feelings he engendered. He was a very attractive man and kind. He was older, and might not be a great fighter but he was obviously fit. She was under no illusions. He wanted her and considered her a friend but he wasn’t going to pretend to be in love with her. She hadn’t felt wanted for _herself_ since before she revealed the truth to the two Wardens. “I’m leaving in the morning to help Riordan, that’s why I was writing, to tell them” she said breathlessly.

 

Teagan sat back in surprise, “Is this what you want? If you don’t want to travel with Alistair and Blake you can stay here, with me. I wasn’t just making conversation last night; I would like you to stay and perhaps see if we suit. Marrying you would not be the worst decision I’ve ever made.” He thought about what he had just said, “That sounds less sincere than I mean. I’m not a young man looking to marry for love; most nobles don’t have the luxury. A friend, however, who is smart and sexy and kind, that’s the kind of woman I want to marry. A woman such as you, for instance.”

 

Tears didn’t fall when she spoke, but only because Jannasilane made the effort to prevent them, “Oh Teagan, I cannot marry you and I cannot stay. You deserve a woman who can make promises to you and keep them, and the vows of marriage are the most important of promises. For reasons I cannot speak there are duties which require my being with the Wardens. The Grey Wardens, not Alistair or Blake. If my duty were done I would seriously consider your offer but it is not and you must look for another.” She cupped the side of his face with her hand, “I think I will be jealous of her. You are a good man, as well as attractive and charming. If she does not value you I will be sorely put out.”

 

“Well, I can accept that for the moment. I will miss you; it’s hard to believe how fond I’ve become of you in such a short time. I will let you get back to your letters. You can leave them on the desk and I will see that your Wardens get them.”

 

Before he could stand Jannasilane wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. He had a moment to savor the feel of her in his arms before she spoke, “I will miss you Teagan. Perhaps . . .” They heard Isolde gently shrieking in the distance.

 

Teagan sighed, “I better go before she wakes the bats. Until later, my dear.” He quickly stood and left.


	28. Leaving Redcliffe

Alistair was eager to get back to Redcliffe and Jannasilane. There was no doubt in his mind anymore about how he felt. He loved her. He didn’t know what would happen with them, but going forward in some direction had to be better than the limbo and hurt he’d put them both through.

 

When they arrived Teagan gave him a funny look and he didn’t see Jannasilane at all. He started to worry then decided that their experience with the Tower and the demon inside Connor were too recent and she was staying away from the mages. He started to look for her but Blake stopped him. “We need to get this done now, Alistair. The demon has been quiet but won’t stay that way for long, not with all these mages around. Jowan has offered to go into the Fade, but there’s only enough lyrium for one mage to go in and if that doesn’t work we’ll have to consider his alternative.” Blake raised his hand to forestall any protests, “I don’t like the idea any more than you do so let’s pray that Wynne succeeds. Even Irving admits she’s our strongest hope. I’m glad Package isn’t in the hall, not just for her sake but Connor’s. We don’t understand her particular affinity well enough to know if her presence might somehow disrupt the magical energies of the ritual.”

 

Alistair let out his breath instead of protesting. He hadn’t thought of that. He certainly didn’t want either Jannasilane or Connor to be hurt. He resigned himself to more waiting and turned his attention to the ritual about to be performed. It wasn’t too different from a Harrowing, only instead of an apprentice being sent alone into the Fade the mages supporting Wynne would also paint runes of lyrium on each other in order to provide her a safety tether and a means to loan her their strength if she should need it. Wynne lay down on the floor and the supporting mages lay down in a circle around her. First Enchanter Irving guided their placement and then he and the remaining mages formed a looser outer circle and began chanting and tracing runes in the air. Alistair kept an eye on the templars, after what happened at the Tower he wouldn’t be surprised if one or more of them were a little jittery.

 

Morrigan was intrigued by the elegance of the ritual. _“Tis not the most direct path into the Fade, but the safety net being woven is quite remarkable. The one called First Enchanter is quite adept at monitoring and directing the energy created so no one mage is unduly burdened. Perhaps all their training isn’t useless. Too bad they allow themselves to be collared by the Chantry.”_

 

All the mages and the magic in the air made Sten uncomfortable. If he were a lesser creature he would be squirming or shifting uncomfortably as some of the Redcliffe knights were doing. Or even find a way to not be there. He wondered where the small woman was and almost envied her for being absent.

 

Leliana, Blake and Zevran watched the ritual with interest from their various vantage points. The air above Wynne took on the color of lyrium and the Fade. Sometimes sparkles of energy flared and even though she looked asleep it was obvious to them that she was in a deeper state. Leliana thought it was rather like some of the ballets she had seen in Orlais and wondered if some dances had their origins in ancient rituals. She frowned a little as she considered that it might be possible to conduct some magic rituals in the guise of entertainment and resolved to learn a little more.

 

General Lee yawned and sneezed.

 

Everyone was relieved when Wynne was successful and the ceremony over. Isolde was crying with relief and hugging Connor as if she would never let him go. The templars and mages prepared to leave for the Circle. Teagan thanked them for coming and promised some assistance in rebuilding.

 

“Let’s find Jannasilane,” Alistair muttered. “Isolde actually smiled at me, I don’t want to be around when she comes to her senses.”

 

Blake slapped him on the back, “Ha, Teagan wants to talk to us and I’m sure he knows where she is. I’m rather looking forward to seeing the little minx. Come on, he’s in the family quarters with Connor and Isolde.” Teagan’s news wasn’t good. Connor appeared to be well but Eamon was still sick. Without the demon’s influence perhaps medicine and magic would have an affect but Teagan wasn’t convinced. Isolde smiled determinedly at the Wardens, making them both uncomfortable, and began insisting they must search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, that she was convinced they were the only ones capable of finding it. Brother Genitivi in Denerim had done considerable research and was certain they could be found. Blake finally stopped her, “We have to go to Denerim soon anyway, we’ll look him up once we are there and see what he has to say. That’s all I can promise,” he said firmly.

 

That was enough for Isolde. She was convinced they would be successful and didn’t hear the implied negative. Bann Teagan smiled wearily and motioned for them to follow him downstairs. “We will continue to try to heal Eamon without your help Wardens, though I don’t know how successful we will be. Connor seems his old self and doesn’t remember what happened, which I suppose is a blessing; when the country is more settled we shall send him to the Circle for training whether Isolde wishes it or not. I know you didn’t promise to search for the Urn but I think you will find that Genitivi’s research is promising . . .”

 

Alistair couldn’t wait any longer, “Bann Teagan, where is Jannasilane? I thought we would see her by now, surely she knows the mages are gone and she doesn’t need to stay away. Is something wrong?”

 

Teagan didn’t say anything as he continued to lead them downstairs and into the Chamberlain’s room, he only clenched his jaw. Once the three of them were inside the room he shut the door and punched Alistair in the face. Alistair staggered back and put his hand up to his cheek as if he couldn’t believe what just happened; he stared back at Teagan in a mixture of hurt, anger and surprise. “She’s gone Alistair,” the veins in Teagan’s neck pulsed with his anger, “I don’t know what you did to hurt her but she’s gone. She left with that other Grey Warden, Riordan. I even asked her to marry me; here in this room I held her and asked her to stay but she said ‘no.’ I can’t believe you are such a fool. Here, she wrote each of you a letter and I promised to deliver them to you.” He handed one to Blake and threw the other at the stunned warrior before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

 

“She’s gone?” Alistair whispered though he found it hard to breathe. Surely his heart stopped beating. In a daze he looked at the floor and slowly knelt down to pick up the letter she wrote him, praying it was all some sort of mad joke and she would pop out and yell ‘surprise’ but knowing he was fooling himself. He sat on the floor with a graceless thud, unable to stand and kept turning the letter and something else over and over, afraid to open it.

 

Blake sat down on the edge of the bed and kept one eye on Alistair while he read his own letter. She’d also left him some sort of wand or rod. It didn’t take long to read, she apologized but felt it best to go with Riordan just now and meet up with them later. Blake’s mood lifted. He didn’t think he could bear to lose his new ‘little sister’ and at least she should be safe with Riordan until they regrouped in Denerim and began to think the temporary separation would be a good thing for both her and Alistair. Maker knows the tension between them couldn’t go on without something breaking. He focused on the non-personal, _“A golem? From what I’ve read one golem is worth a dozen warriors. Small as our group is I think we better go to Honnleath.”_ He folded up his letter and looked at Alistair, who still hadn’t made a move to read his own letter. “Alistair,” he hesitated when he saw the pain in the other man’s eyes, “I’ll leave you alone.” He left and closed the door behind him.

 

When he heard the soft click Alistair picked up the letter and opened it with trembling hands. Something wrapped in cloth dropped out and he picked it up but didn’t unwrap it while he read.

 

_“Alistair,_

_I am so angry at you for hurting me when I did nothing to deserve your cold disdain. I knew sharing certain intimate details with you might mean the end of our relationship and thought I was prepared. They do make a normal relationship difficult if not impossible; I understand this. My only hope was that we would find a way to still be friends and then I saw the disgust in your eyes. Why? This I did not understand until you decided to inform us of your noble birth and realized that a Grey Warden might be willing to have certain friendships but a prince would not. I am a commoner and unable to make simple promises; as such I am unworthy of you as you realized for yourself. Somebody like me would cause many problems for a noble, much less a prince. Even so I do not understand the disdain or disgust; the anger I feel, the pain is tearing me apart._

_Riordan is leaving for Denerim and I shall join with him. He can use my help and perhaps by the time we see each other again it won’t hurt so much. I refuse to regret our time together before Soldier’s Peak, Ali. For a while I felt treasured and hope that distance will calm our feelings so we can become friendly, if not friends._

_I found this in Eamon’s desk. He must have begun to repair it years ago. It may not be as good as new but I did the best I could to finish what he started. I believe it is yours. I sometimes want to pluck your eyes out (and other parts) but I do want you to be happy even though it will not be with me. Maybe not right away, this is truth._

_Do not die, Ali._

_Jannasilane”_

 

“What did I do?” Alistair whispered to the empty room. He thought he knew pain and grief when Duncan died, but this . . . this was hot and sharp, cold and merciless all at the same time. The bitter taste of fear ran through him, fear that he might never see her again; fear that he might find her only to be too late to tell her he loved her, fear that he had ruined the best thing to have ever happened to him. He bowed his head and smoothed out the painful missive. The words were smeared in places as if by tears and he didn’t know if they were hers or his. Carefully he folded it and tucked it away, the only thing she had ever written him.

 

After what seemed like ages where he sat still as stone he remembered the item which was with the letter. Slowly he unwrapped the small package and stared in surprise, _“My mother’s amulet! I thought it was lost forever,”_ he picked it up and dangled it so he could see it better. It was obvious that all the repairs had been carefully done and only showed on the closest examination. _“She wouldn’t have taken so much trouble and time if she didn’t care for me. I need to find out what I did and make it right, convince her that I love her and want to be with her no matter the difficulties.”_ Even in his own head he shied away from voicing the possibility of other men in her bed. He undid the clasp and tried to put the amulet on but he was a lot bigger now and he couldn’t even fit the chain around his neck. He scowled and then undid his Warden amulet. He wrapped his mother’s gift, now also Jannasilane’s gift to him, around the cord and secured it so it fell below the Warden vial and was able to wear it that way.

 

The Alistair who stood and left the room was a vastly different one from the one who entered it. He had a purpose, not just a job which he felt was worthy, but a personal goal. For the first time in his life he was determined to fight for his own happiness and the first step was to talk to Teagan. Fortunately Teagan was in Eamon’s study, taking care of business and waiting for Alistair to leave the Chamberlain’s room. The study was the first place he looked. He closed the door and leaned on the desk, “Are you in love with Jannasilane?” he asked bluntly.

 

Teagan was careful to keep his expression one of mild interest, “That’s rather personal, Alistair. Why do you ask?”

 

“Because I do love her and am going to do everything within my power to convince her of that and to come back to me. If that’s going to be a problem for you I would rather know now; you were always good to me and I don’t want to dishonor that by even the appearance of going behind your back. Do you love her?” Alistair asked again, struggling to ignore the visions of the Bann wrapped around his Janna in bed.

 

Teagan leaned back and smiled, “It’s about time you grew a set,” he said bluntly. At Alistair’s look of surprise he explained, “A lot of decisions were made for you and in spite of you when you were younger. But you’re not a child anymore and at some point a man has to take control of his own life, of his own choices. I am very fond of Janna and I did ask her to marry me but she turned me down. She said there were reasons and I suspect you are one of those reasons though she did not elaborate. I admit I was disappointed, we are friends and she is a very attractive young woman but I am not in love with her. I don’t know what you did, Alistair, but the cut went deep. I wish you luck but don’t know if you’ll be successful.”

 

“Neither do I but I have to try,” Alistair said slowly. “And there is nothing more you can tell me?” Teagan shook his head and watched Alistair leave. Sighing he returned to the distasteful job of the arling’s paperwork. He would be glad when Eamon was back on his feet. Being a Bann was enough for him.

 

Next Alistair went in search of Blake. Maybe Blake, who was vastly more experienced than he was, could tell him what he did wrong. One of the guards told him Blake was checking the battlements and that Zevran was also looking for him. Alistair grimaced but didn’t let the news deter him. He and Zevran found Blake at the same time, fortunately he was alone and nobody was in nearby.

 

“Blake –,” “Warden, I” the two began speaking at the same time.

 

“When do we leave for Denerim?” Alistair spoke quickly and glared at the Antivan. “I have to find Jannasilane.”

 

“I am glad you are here, Alistair. I need to speak to you both, I may be able to shed some light on why the pocket goddess felt compelled to leave,” Zevran had decided to confess his sins and hope neither Warden decided to kill him. His words certainly gave him their full attention; he only wished it was for other reasons. Cautiously the Antivan looked at Alistair and took a step away from him, “I know you hurt her, Alistair, though I don’t know how. I thought,” Zevran closed his eyes in shame, “I thought that as a result of your actions the lovely Jannasilane turned to our leader. I was, and this is a hard thing to admit because it has never happened before, I was jealous.” He opened his eyes and looked straight at the Warden. “I will understand if you wish me to leave your company, but I think you both need to know what happened. Jealousy is a new emotion for me; until I met you I was never intrigued enough to care if my interest was not returned. This feeling festered and I began to think that if I could somehow make her less in your eyes you would then return your interest to me. You have not acted on it but I do know when someone is interested in my handsome self,” he added with a somewhat shaky parody of his normal cockiness.

 

“I seduced her,” he stated baldly. “You suspected as much judging by your glares, Alistair. I am a very experienced man in the arts of seduction; it can be very useful in my line of work. An “innocent” touch here, a “casual” touch there, all carefully timed and placed to bring forth a woman’s desire without her being aware she is being manipulated. Almost any woman can be brought to the point of considering an assignation and believing that it is their choice to continue if one as skilled as I is willing to take the time. Since I found the pocket goddess desirable from our first meeting it was no hardship on my part. Her innocence and yes, her hurt, made it much easier for me as did her innate sensuality. She has no idea that the strong desire she felt was artificially created by my actions. Any qualms I had I pushed away. I will not go into details but when we were both _quite_ satisfied I did a truly horrible thing. I looked at her lying flushed and beautiful against the green of the forest floor and mocked her. I let her know that our play was simply a means to an end and she was just a pawn.”

 

“You – you smarmy, Antivan _assassin_!” Alistair spat out the words and grabbed Zevran around the throat and lifted him off the ground, limiting his air supply. “How could you do that to her? To Blake? To anyone?”

 

Blake didn’t stop him; he was too stunned, hurt and angry. _“Poor Package, no wonder she wanted a reprieve from us.”_ His lips curled in disgust, “I’d rather a knife in the back,” he muttered, not realizing he spoke aloud. “Why didn’t she tell me?” he demanded. “Alistair, loosen your grip, I want answers.” He waited until the warrior complied and once again asked, “Why didn’t she tell me?”

 

“Shame,” Alistair and Zevran answered together, surprising all three of them. Zevran continued, “She was embarrassed and ashamed as well as hurt. I, I was also shamed by my actions. It was quite clear to me from her reactions to my words that I had been incredibly, horribly wrong and had inflicted deliberate hurt on one of life’s innocents. Never have I done so before; it was a point of pride with me. It is easy to be proud when one has never faced the temptation. I should have listened to my inner doubts, perhaps I would still have seduced her but I would not have deliberately hurt her. I hurt her, I hurt myself, I hurt any chances for a friendship which I have since come to realize I would treasure, and I know by telling you I have burned any bridges leading to your bed and a closer relationship. I have been all kinds of a fool. I am no more used to feeling shame and guilt than I am jealousy. I do not excuse my actions; I merely explain how they occurred.” Taking a deep breath he turned to the warrior, “I understand why you want to kill me, Alistair; I probably deserve death for many reasons. Before you do, you should know that what I did merely added to the pain of your actions. In her words you had already made her feel like brothel trash.”

 

Surprised, Alistair dropped his hands from the elf, “What did I **do**?” He was truly puzzled because he didn’t see how his indecision could have made her feel that way.

 

“You do not know? Hmm,” Zevran replied. He kept an eye on Blake who stood silent since his one question. “I apologized to her and promised I would do my best to make things right, or as right as possible. She told me it was time for me to grow up, that I was old enough to be her father,” he couldn’t help wincing as he recounted her words.

 

“Bet that hurt,” Alistair muttered distractedly.

 

“Yes, but I was glad to see her spirit was not broken. There is more, however.” Blake cocked an eyebrow and Zevran hastily added, “It has nothing to do with any actions of mine.”

 

“Teagan told me he asked her to marry him,” Alistair shook his head, “but that’s not what you mean, is it?”

 

“No, but I am not surprised. He flirted quite openly with her and was honest in his intentions, although I would not be shocked if perhaps that added to the, how should I say it, the emotional tension of the pocket goddess. No, she went to see a man named Lloyd at the tavern. Before the battle he indicated to her he had some unusual items which might interest the Wardens so she decided to take a look. If she had spoken to me I would have gone with her for I did not trust his interest in her. He got her alone, mauled her and called her a whore.” Zevran’s eyes went flat with anger at the memory, the two Wardens looked equally angry, more so when Zevran continued. “She came out of his backroom before I could finish unlocking it, her clothes in disarray. There were bruises. _He_ ,” a wealth of contempt was in that single word, “was reeling from one of her shrieks. She was holding that rod,” Zevran pointed to the control rod Blake had stuffed in his belt.

 

“No wonder she left; travelling with Riordan must seem like a haven to her,” Blake shook his head. He pinned Zevran with a stormy gaze, “I don’t know if I can ever forgive what you did to her. Alistair’s an idiot and never meant to hurt her, but you did. You’ve been useful and I’ve noticed you watching her back more than once, but when we meet up again if I think your presence is a problem for her then you are gone. If I think you are acting in such a reprehensible manner again I will slit your throat myself and leave you for any crows which come along. Leave.”

 

The two Grey Wardens watched Zevran leave the battlements with fury, bafflement and sorrow. Before he left Zevran turned around and spoke to Alistair, “You should talk to Leliana. I believe the pocket goddess confided in her.”

 

Tentatively Alistair placed a hand on Blake’s shoulder, “I’m sorry, Blake. I know you liked him.”

 

Blake nodded in acknowledgement, his eyes still on the departing elf. “I still want him. Right now I want to bend him over the wall and pound into him, but as punishment. Maker, I must be desperate for release.”

 

“If you need some release you can pound on me if you like,” Alistair offered then flushed in horror, “n-n-not like that, I mean pound as in fight, not pound as in . . . p-pound.”

 

Blake laughed. His laughter had an edge of hysteria but it was laughter. He shook his head, “I know what you meant, Alistair. I’m afraid that just wouldn’t be the same thing.” After a moment he leaned back against the wall and looked at his friend. “You are an idiot, you know. Are you sure you don’t have a clue what you could have done?” Alistair shook his head miserably and leaned on the opposite wall. “We’re probably as alone as we can hope to be, what are the other issues causing problems with you and Package? I want to know everything, Alistair, no matter how embarrassing. You never know what might be important.”

 

“Right. I’m not breaking a confidence; she just wanted to tell me first. It’s a Warden/Griffonsong thing.” Alistair explained everything he knew about the Time of Becoming, for once not incoherent on a sex-related topic. Blake’s eyes opened wide as the templar explained everything and why he needed time to think. Alistair concluded, “I know for sure how I feel about her, but even if I can convince her to come back to me we still need to figure that out.”

 

Blake let out a long, slow whistle. “That is, well, I certainly did not expect that. No wonder she left with Riordan instead of staying with Teagan. At least Riordan seems like a decent sort, just in case . . .”

 

Alistair nodded glumly. That possibility had occurred to him and he was just going to have to live with it if they were going to have a chance together. “So, when do we leave for Denerim?”

 

“After we go to Honnleath to see a man about a golem,” Blake decided. “This will give you time to make some decisions and Package time to heal. She needs space from us, Alistair, all of us,” he forestalled the man from speaking. “But first we’re going to pay a visit to the tavern. Somebody needs to learn some manners, don’t you agree?” United they went to the village. Once they finished their ‘visit’ the two Wardens owned the tavern and put Bella in charge. Lloyd was grateful to be spared his life.


	29. Time to See a Man About a Golem

Alistair was in a foul mood. Two days after leaving Redcliffe he finally had a chance to talk to Leliana alone. If Jannasilane confided in anyone other than Blake it would be the pretty redhead, _Zevran_ was right about that. After some hemming and hawing he finally asked her if Jannasilane ever talked to her about them, why she thought he didn’t like her anymore. The redhead questioned him closely and when she was satisfied Alistair was truly clueless she told him. Alistair was bewildered, “I never . . . how could she think that? I apologized to her for my behavior but I was never angry or upset with _her_. I’ll admit I was disgusted with myself for being less than honorable. I tried to stay away because it wasn’t fair to her, not while I was unsure about so many things. Why didn’t she say something?”

 

Leliana finally took pity on him, “Other than a quick apology in the night did you ever speak to her? Or did you continue to avoid her as you had been? I am glad that she was mistaken, but you hurt her badly. A young girl’s self-esteem can be very fragile in matters of the heart. Regardless of your intention you were cruel.” She left him alone then, realizing he was badly shaken and needed to think.

 

_“Leliana is right, I should have talked to her more. I was so busy being sorry for myself and considering my own feelings that I didn’t even think about hers. I am such a fool. And arrogant to think I had plenty of time to think and that she would meekly wait for me to make up my mind. Ha, there’s nothing meek about my Janna.”_

 

Alistair’s mood didn’t improve when Wynne cornered him a few days later, “Alistair,” Wynne began when she was darning one of his socks, “I wish to speak with you. I noticed your growing relationship with Jannasilane and I am sorry for the pain you are feeling now but you must realize it is for the best. You are a Grey Warden, one of the only two Fereldan wardens who remain alive and have a responsibility. Love is ultimately selfish, a distraction, one you can ill afford in this crisis. What if you had to choose between saving Ferelden and saving your love? I know you don’t agree now, but one day I hope you see that I am correct and that this thought brings you some comfort.”

 

Alistair stared at her in disbelief and growing anger, “I have never in my life not done my duty, even when it was one not of my choosing. But I am a man, not just a Grey Warden and I have the right to a personal life.”

 

“I’m not going to lecture you, Alistair. I’ve given you my opinion and what you take from it is up to you,” Wynne replied stiffly.

 

“I believe you’re doing what you think is best,” he was angry but he struggled not to hurt her feelings. She’d been friendly to him from the beginning and he enjoyed what he considered her grandmotherly attention. He tried to smile as he left but didn’t know if he was successful or not.

 

Later that evening he and Blake were patrolling camp. Alistair was brooding and Blake was on edge, “So now you’re picking a fight with Wynne. Are you planning on alienating everyone in camp, Alistair? I understand why you avoid Zevran,” when he said the assassin’s name a keen observer would have seen the fleeting sadness, “but you try not to speak to Leliana and now you’re getting angry with Wynne. If you keep this up you won’t be able to stand yourself.”

 

“Look, Blake, I don’t need -” Alistair turned and slammed his fist into a tree. “I’m sorry, Wynne got on my nerves with her advice. She told me it was for the best that Jannasilane was gone because I can now concentrate on being a Grey Warden. Leliana just makes me feel guilty when she looks at me with those big blue eyes. I think she misses her too.”

 

Blake scowled, “Old busybody, she should have kept her mouth shut. Maker, I could use a good night’s sleep. I don’t know how you managed before Package, Alistair, I really don’t. I wish she were here, not understanding half of what I say when I tease her or flirt with her.”

 

Alistair sighed, “I’ll try to keep my brooding to a minimum. Morrigan has enough ammunition, no need to give her more. Are you sure we can’t just throw her at the darkspawn? One look from her would surely shrivel an ogre down to size.” Alistair hesitated, “I hate to bring this up, but are you okay about Zevran?”

 

Blake involuntarily turned his eyes toward the elf sitting in front of his tent cleaning his weapons. He too had been subdued since Package left, though whether it was because of her departure or his confession the Warden didn’t know. “I have to be, don’t I? Regardless of my personal feelings he’s a very useful member of our group, if only he weren’t so damned sexy. I just have to look at him and I start imagining all sorts of things we could be doing and then I imagine him with Package. I think he truly regrets what he did, but just the fact he was capable of such horrible behavior isn’t exactly endearing. A bit of danger is one thing . . .” he shrugged as if it didn’t matter but Alistair wasn’t fooled.

 

The next day Alistair made a point of talking to Leliana. After walking in silence for some moments he spoke up, “I’m sorry, Leliana. I know I haven’t been the most companionable person recently, especially with you.” Leliana looked at him and remained silent, her blue eyes missing nothing. “I want you to know I’m not angry with you, it’s just that after our last conversation every time I looked at you I felt guilty about Jannasilane. I never ever meant to hurt her. Thank you for telling me.”

 

Her eyes warmed, “I understand Alistair. When one receives unwelcome news one does not always want to speak to the messenger. I truly hope you are able to convince her that you love her, I think you are so cute together and she is good for you.” For the first time in days Alistair felt lighter, as if the black cloud he’d been under was now a less ominous shade of grey.

 

Morrigan was happy for the first time since the toy joined them. She didn’t mind that Alistair was miserable, that just added a fillip to her satisfaction. She didn’t even have to trouble herself to be snarky since he was being much quieter and therefore not making stupid comments. She didn’t understand why the Warden was miserable, but decided maybe they shared the toy in that large tent. In time he would be more likely to turn to her for some satisfaction and making it easier to implement her plan.

 

Sten wondered about these humans. The small one who was gone was an unusual fighter but not strictly necessary to their success yet her absence had a profound effect disproportionate to her size or contribution. It was distinctly odd. Among the Beresaad everyone knew their role and if one fell others would step in with little fuss. He was not even sure what to call her; each of his companions seemed to have their own name for her. How could one know their role when one did not know what one was called?

 

They neared Honnleath and were nearly run over by villagers escaping the darkspawn. The small village was crawling with darkspawn but fortunately th4ey were lower tier creatures who provided no real challenge. They approached the village center and stared at the unusual statue in the middle.

 

“Is that, is that a golem?” Leliana asked with wonder. “I have heard of them, the great dwarven creations designed to fight the darkspawn but have never seen one.”

 

“There is a damaged one in the basement store room of the Circle. I don’t think it’s been active in my lifetime but it does look very much like this,” Wynne replied.

 

Blake pulled out the control rod Package left for him and pointed it at the golem, “Dulef gar.” Nothing happened and he loudly repeated the command but golem, if it was a golem, remained motionless.

 

“So we have wasted more time when we have an Archdemon to find?” Sten asked. He didn’t really expect an answer and wasn’t disappointed.

 

“I sense more darkspawn, I think from inside that house there. Perhaps there are also some survivors who can help us,” Alistair suggested.

 

Morrigan snorted, “Why not? What is more wasted time? Is it really likely that a remote village such as this would have a working golem? If what you want is a head full of rocks I would like to point out that we already have Alistair.”

 

“Helpful as always,” Alistair muttered. Blake was already at the entrance to the house and the others scrambled to catch up. Morrigan was disappointed that the templar proved to be right and rolled her eyes when the Warden agreed to help a man find his daughter. It was like Lothering when they ran around solving everybody’s problem.

 

The mage who used to work in the laboratory had created his traps well. Even Morrigan was impressed, “I wonder what he’s protecting down here that requires so much security. It is odd.” They got an answer soon enough, a demon trapped by the mage Wilhelm had the little girl enthralled and tried to use her as a bargaining chip for its freedom. Blake lied and tricked the demon, saving the girl and breaking the seal so they could all get out.

 

“Let’s get the activation phrase, the golem and head back to Denerim, shall we?” Blake asked wearily. The girl’s father was beaming in gratitude and gave them the correct phrase and a warning about murderous tendencies. Blake wasn’t worried and hurried out into the sunshine and the golem.

 

He was contemplating it when Alistair joined him, “Are you sure you want to do this? It did murder its former master after all.”

 

“Still less dangerous than Morrigan’s tongue,” Blake quipped quietly. Alistair stifled a snicker. “Besides, think of it as a portable battering ram.”

 

“Better it than me,” his friend muttered and watched, ready to defend the Warden if the golem got any funny ideas. “Jannasilane would love to see this,” he sighed.

 

Blake agreed, “We’ll have a fun surprise for her when we see her again.” He pointed the rod at the rock statue and said the, hopefully, magic words, “Dulef har.”

 

They watched it carefully. At first nothing happened then a slight, shimmery glow enveloped the creature. Slowly, stiffly it lowered first one arm then the other. The golem stood there, looking at the two Wardens and heaved a great sigh, “It found the control rod I see, and it isn’t even a mage. How thrilling. Well, what does it command me to do?”

 

The corners of Blake’s mouth twitched, _“Oh yeah, Package would love this,”_ he thought. He slanted his eyes to Zevran and smiled wickedly. “Hug the elf,” he commanded.

 

Startled, Zevran backed away, “While I am fond of being caressed by strong hands I prefer that my insides stay in place when this happens.”

 

“Odd, I feel no compulsion to obey. I am awake so the control rod cannot be broken. Why did it want to waken me?”

 

Blake tapped the rod thoughtfully and stared at the rock creature. “I am a Grey Warden, as is Alistair. We need to defeat the darkspawn and kill the Archdemon in order to end this Blight. What will you do now?”

 

“I have free will; I can go wherever I wish. I need to think on this but for now I am willing to follow it. I am called Shale. These darkspawn creatures are nearly as evil as the feathered fiends of the sky and need to be exterminated.” Blake couldn’t tell if Shale was staring at him or if that was just how golems looked at people. It was rather disconcerting.

 

“Glad to have you aboard, Shale.”

 

“This shall be interesting,” and Shale fell in line with the others. On the way out of the village woe to any chickens which crossed Shale’s path. They were met with a rock foot and crushed with a splat. Shale just shrugged when anybody looked at him, or her, askance.


	30. Reunion in Denerim

“Have you made any decisions, Alistair? We’ll be in Denerim soon and you’ll be able to talk to Package. You better know what you want,” Blake warned. With Shale in the party they made good time after leaving Honnleath. The acerbic golem didn’t encourage much chatting, perhaps it was simply observing its new companions and getting used to being on the move again without being controlled.

 

“I love her. I wouldn’t blame her if she hates me but I need to explain myself and beg her forgiveness.” Alistair closed his eyes in misery for a moment as he remembered the moment he realized she was gone. He’d read and reread her letter so many times it was engraved on his brain, each reading more painful than the one before. Teagan was a good man; he wouldn’t blame Jannasilane if she chose him. He and Zevran, he gritted his teeth at thoughts of the elf, had hurt her enough. “I never really thought I would ever have a chance for love. It was quite a shock to realize I was in love with her at the same time she was telling me she might, um, need other lovers.” He looked down at the ground and muttered half to himself, “It’s a moot point if she can’t bear the sight of me.”

 

Blake clapped him on the shoulder and moved on. There was nothing for him to say, he figured Alistair had only slightly better than a 50-50 chance. He shook his head, he honestly didn’t know what he would do if he were in the warrior’s shoes. He missed Package and hoped she would be joining them again. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at Zevran and wondered what he was thinking.

 

Zevran hated feeling guilty. Only when she was gone did he realize how much he enjoyed Jannasilane’s presence at camp. Her innocent pleasure in new experiences was a joy. Then he deliberately crushed her for his own selfish ends. He constantly thought about what she said to him, _‘you’re old enough to be my father, isn’t it time you grew up?’_ She was right. And his efforts didn’t even pay off; instead of bringing the Warden closer to him his actions pushed him away. The Warden made it very clear that Zevran’s continued presence depended on somehow making amends with the little pocket goddess. Zevran shook his head at the mess he’d made of his situation with the Wardens.

 

The Denerim marketplace was as busy as usual. Alistair fiddled with his mother’s amulet while he waited for Blake to check with his contacts. He tried to block out Morrigan sniping in his ear, but it wasn’t easy. At least Janna had Riordan to take care of her, not that she needed much help in that direction. He wondered . . . well it didn’t matter. It wasn’t any of his business. He looked up in relief when Blake returned.

 

Jannasilane was all nerves. Her Time of Becoming came while on the road with Riordan. Vividly she remembered the day it started. _She’d been feeling strange and edgy all day. Riordan seemed to be his normal charming self. She enjoyed their talks about his travels, the Grey Wardens and her parents. He seemed to enjoy listening to her talk about growing up and her stories of traveling with the Wardens. If he was just being polite he certainly hid it well. One of his contacts lived near the Brecelian forest; he was a solitary man who primarily fished and hunted but somehow managed to hear many interesting things. Riordan hoped that when the other Wardens joined them in Denerim they would be able to combine their information and get a more complete picture of the state of affairs in Ferelden._

_They never found his friend. Riordan was disappointed but not surprised. They had met with a few of his other contacts, Warden sympathizers or friends of his family, along the way and learned a bit more. He suggested they stay at the man’s small house for a day or two, hopefully his friend would return. Jannasilane ran a hand over her hair and grimaced, “Do you think I could wash my hair while we are here? Having a spider explode over one does not leave behind a clean feeling.”_

_Riordan looked at her in amusement. His thought when those spiders attacked was to kill them quickly, unfortunately they concentrated their efforts on his small companion and one was directly over her when he sliced it open with his blade. Her face when the skirmish was over . . . he didn’t think he would ever forget her standing there, dripping with spider remains and glaring at him. “I would be more than happy to help you, little one. Spiders do not exactly leave behind a pleasing scent and we do not want you to cause a panic when we reach Denerim. We will need to be discreet.”_

_“I bet you think you are so funny,” she accused. “However, I will accept your kind,” she rolled her eyes, “offer of assistance. My hair feels so sticky that I think washing it will be quite the chore.” She was quite right. In fact washing all of her was a chore. She had to practically rub her skin raw before the spider residue was all gone. Riordan wisely didn’t risk getting his armor wet and put on a pair of old trousers. Jannasilane couldn’t help but notice he was nicely in shape. She hesitated for a moment before stripping off her robe so it could soak, though she had her doubts it would recover._

_Even with her back to him while he doused her with bucket after bucket of water Riordan was well aware of her curves. He was glad she couldn’t see his reaction. By the time she was ready to get the soap for her hair he was gritting his teeth and his eyes were heavy lidded with lust. She didn’t know he had desired her since Ostagar. Being a Grey Warden for so long made one very disciplined. His fingers tangled with hers amid the wet mass of hair. Soon they found a rhythm she found incredibly enticing and she leaned back ever so slightly. His hands slid down her neck and massaged her shoulders. He tried reminding himself she was the daughter of his friend and colleague but when she opened her eyes and looked at him he gave up the battle. He was a man with needs that hadn’t been met in months. Riordan closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. She nuzzled his chest, “Riordan,” she breathed._

_Riordan took control then and quickly rinsed her hair before picking her up and carrying her inside, her curvy body squirming for his touch. She was ready and Maker help him he couldn’t wait. Without warning he pushed himself deep inside and enjoyed the look of pleasure on her face as she fell over. One, two thrusts and he joined her. Ecstasy filled him just as he filled her with his seed. The night was just beginning for them. He touched her breasts, exploring them with hand and tongue. His beard rasped against her skin and she cried out for more. “Please, Riordan,” she begged but he ignored her. He suckled her breasts, her nipples growing hard and firm under his tongue. He found her nub and began pleasuring her with clever fingers until she found release once more. Only then did he move to kiss her lips tenderly, his tongue gently inserting itself to dance with hers._

_She whimpered when she felt his manhood growing against her but he made no moves to enter her just yet. “We have the rest of the night, little one. And for me it has been a long time since I enjoyed the pleasure of a beautiful woman in my arms. I plan to savor the experience.” He kissed her and prevented her from replying. Slowly he trailed kisses across her cheek until he could nibble her ear. He nuzzled her hair, “you have the most unusual hair. A temptation for any man worthy of the name, it is like a living creature, beckoning to be touched.” He placed small kisses on her neck and shoulder punctuated by small nips of his teeth. He continued his path down her breasts, bringing them to hard peaks once more before moving down her torso, her navel, until he finally reached the wet heat of her core._

_When he lightly nipped her nub and began tonguing her she pushed him back until she was on top and slowly sheathed herself on him. Her hands were firm on his chest, massaging him and exploring his muscles. He laughed, “Such impatience,” even as he grabbed her hips to move against her. She growled at him and began moving up and down, deliberately clenching and unclenching herself around him until he could stand it no further. This time she brought him up and over before letting herself go. His eyes crossed with pleasure. It was a long time before sleep claimed them._

_The sun shining through the small window was warm on their skin when they woke. Riordan took a brief moment to admire the play of light against her complexion and how he could see faint freckles before he swatted her rear, “We need to move, little one. The prospect of meeting my friend naked is not pleasing to this old man.”_

_Jannasilane snorted, “you are not old, Riordan. Mature, yes, but not old.”_

_Riordan grew serious, “in Warden years I am old, near the end of my time. I think you know this.” She looked away; she didn’t want to think about it but knew it was so. “I thank you for last night, your company gave me more pleasure than I have known in a long time and I will value it long after we part ways. If I were a young man perhaps I would challenge Alistair for your affections but I am not.”_

_Her eyes wide with surprise she answered him, “Alistair doesn’t care for me. Maybe at one point,” she shrugged but Riordan could see the hurt deep in her eyes and inwardly sighed at the stupidity of young men, unknowingly echoing Teagan’s thoughts. She smiled uncertainly at him, damning herself for wishing he were a certain templar, “I enjoy your company as well.” She blushed slightly, charming him. She decided she would wait until Denerim before considering how much to tell him. Meanwhile they had a day before traveling again._

That was weeks ago. They continued enjoying their more intimate relationship until they reached Denerim and Riordan left to investigate. She was fine at first but then the need for Warden contact began steadily building, sometimes bringing her to tears of pain. She pored over her mother’s book, seeking for any remedies which might soothe her craving. Bitterly she finally understood why some of her kind chose life in a brothel. Sex with non-Wardens seemed to be the only balm and that lasted such a short time. She couldn’t do that. If it killed her she was determined to wait it out. The only consolation she got from her reading was that the Becoming was more intense when it first occurred and usually settled at a more comfortable level. She hoped it would happen soon.

 

Jannasilane stood near the window looking for some sign of Riordan before she began pacing for the thousandth time. Her bare feet made no sound. She didn’t realize her nails were gouging deep slashes in her arms where she tried to hold herself together. She felt a faint sense of Warden, but she didn’t even look up. She’d felt it before but could never tell where it was from. The city itself seemed to block the sense or cause it to echo against stone walls. She felt need mocking her. Noises came from the empty store below and the familiar sense of Warden was stronger. Jannasilane grew still with hope.

 

Blake had directed the others to find rooms while he and Alistair went to meet with Riordan. He’d accepted a couple more jobs so they would be in Denerim a few days. Zevran was determined to prove his worth to the Grey Wardens and followed them, keeping an eye out for any assassins, including those of the feathered variety. He slipped inside the store after them and hid in the shadows in case he was needed. He waited while they went upstairs.

 

Alistair licked his lips nervously. He didn’t know how Janna would react to seeing him again. He just hoped she would hear him out before throwing him out. Neither he nor Blake expected the sight that greeted them. Jannasilane was standing in the middle of the room, holding herself still except for the tremors shaking her. Alistair stared in horror at the bloody furrows in her arms and felt immense sorrow when he looked into her eyes. She looked . . . haunted, desperate even. Her face was gaunt and her voice hoarse when she whispered, “Ali? Blake?” Then she lost control and threw herself at them, “help me, please.” She began crying.

 

Alistair automatically wrapped his arms around her as he struggled to understand what she meant. It was difficult because he was hard as a stone inside his armor; her nearness had such a strong effect on him. “This, this is what you meant? This is the Becoming?” She nodded her head, still refusing to look at him.

 

“Where is Riordan?” Blake asked quietly, worried about the older Warden’s absence.

 

“I d-do not know. I-I h-haven’t s-s-seen him s-since w-we arr-rrived,” Jannasilane could hardly put words together. Their presence made her need greater. “P-please!” she cried.

 

“I’ll just go downstairs and leave you two alone,” Blake began.

 

“No!” Jannasilane interrupted him. She bit her lip and looked away in shame even as she burrowed against Alistair, “No, please, you must stay. I am sorry, Alistair,” she looked at him in dread as she continued, “you are a young Grey Warden and your, erm, your Wardenness alone is not enough. Not right now.” Tears fell down her face and she looked down at the ground, not wanting to see the disgust in his eyes.

 

“Blake,” Alistair flushed. This was not something he ever expected to ask, “You have more experience than we do. You should probably take charge so nobody gets hurt.”

 

Blake nodded. He knew this was hard on Alistair, but looking at Package he knew they didn’t have much choice. Softly he spoke to her, “Package, help me get Alistair’s armor off of him. Alistair, as soon as you are free of all this metal, carry her to bed. I think holding her will be better for her. I’ll make sure we’re secure and join you.” Gently he stroked her face until she looked up at him. He smiled crookedly at her, “I fantasized about this, you know, under happier circumstances.” He kissed her then, gently and reassuringly. As quickly as possible they removed Alistair’s heavy plate armor.

 

The moment he was freed of all encumbrances Alistair swung her into his arms and kissed her deeply. When he could take a breath he asked huskily, “Where’s the bed, love?” She just pointed and he walked in that direction, holding her as if he would never let her go again.

 

Quickly Blake headed downstairs and made sure everything was locked tight. Sensing a presence he whirled around, “Zevran,” he said flatly, “why are you here?”

 

Inwardly wincing at the tone Zevran replied lightly, “Making sure no assassins followed you, of course. Excepting my humble self. I took an oath to protect the Wardens. I may not be the world’s most admirable person but when I give my vow freely I honor it. There are not enough Grey Wardens in Ferelden for you and Alistair to wander the less savory parts of Denerim alone.”

 

Blake looked at him, brooding. He rubbed his temple and sighed, “You may be right but you shouldn’t be here. However what’s done is done. Stay down here unless I call for you.” He turned to go.

 

“Warden, I hesitate to ask, but did you find your young goddess and Riordan?” Zevran asked.

 

“Package yes, Riordan no. The situation is . . . complicated.” Blake continued upstairs without looking back. Zevran sighed. He supposed he should be grateful the Warden talked to him even that much. He made himself comfortable, he had a feeling he would be waiting for some time.

 

Alistair reverently lay Jannasilane on the bed, “Shh, let’s get your robe off,” he delicately touched his lips to hers, waiting for them to open in invitation even though it was prompted by need rather than love. Soon her clothes were tossed aside and he could look his fill. She was so beautiful. He held her against him with one arm and with his other hand stroked and caressed her. She might be trembling from need, but he was going to make sure she was ready for him. He didn’t want to hurt her again. His hand moved lower to between her legs. He kissed her breasts and slid his fingers to her entrance. She was damp but not enough and he removed his fingers to her nub. He tweaked and pulled in a way designed to drive her wild and first slid one finger, then two and three in and out until he felt her gush.  Only then did he position himself on top of her. He eased into her slowly. She went over for him and seemed to relax just a bit. When he was completely encased he looked down into her eyes. He tried to put all the love he felt for her in his gaze but she looked away. Sighing he bent his head down and kissed her. He didn’t start moving until she did, letting her need and desire set the pace. He started thrusting faster and she met him motion for motion until they both came. He rolled over so she was on top of him and he was still inside her. He held her close during the aftershocks, stroking her hair and back soothingly.

 

Blake was next to them by then. He moved her hair behind her ear so he could look her in the eye. “Feel better?” he asked. She hesitated and nodded, not ready to speak. He looked into her eyes. “It’s better but the need is still clawing at you, isn’t it?”

 

“Y-yes,” she answered, relieved that he understood. She refused to look at Alistair even as she reveled in his close embrace.

 

“We’ll have to fix that, then. You two look so beautiful together,” he whispered before closing his lips on hers. When hers opened in surprise Blake deepened the kiss. Alistair continued stroking her, for which Blake thanked the Maker. Knowing the cooperation was necessary and bringing himself to do it were two different things. “Alistair, stay inside if you can but slowly widen your legs.” Blake moved so he was behind Package where she lay sprawled on Alistair’s chest. “Move your hands to her hips and gently hold her,” he directed. Lightly he placed his hands on the small of her back and began softly massaging. Sometimes he leaned down and planted a delicate kiss against her spine. Jannasilane sighed in pleasure and arched into his hands. “That’s it,” Blake whispered in her ear. “I know this is new for you, and it will be uncomfortable at first but trust us. We’ll make it as easy as possible and pleasurable for you.” Alistair felt a tightening in his groin at the motion of her breasts against him.

 

Blake reached for a vial of oil he’d brought with him. He poured some of the oil into his hands and began rubbing it into her and caressing her to prepare her. Alistair gently rubbed lazy circles with his thumbs as she began to squirm under their joint ministrations. Blake could feel Alistair twitch inside her. He slipped an oiled finger inside and began moving it in and out while Alistair kneaded her curves and held her close.

 

She was being bombarded by sensation. Jannasilane felt herself being stretched and then a pang when Blake started using two fingers. When he twisted his fingers she gasped in pleasure and felt Alistair growing thicker inside her. Blake did too and decided to hurry things along a bit. He covered his own erection in oil and positioned himself, “be still,” he ordered hoarsely. Carefully he pushed himself inside. Jannasilane bit her lips with the pain and discomfort but was soothed by the gentleness of both men. Blake had to control his breathing when he was all the way in. He held himself still while the three of them got used to each other. Slowly he leaned back and when he felt Package tightening around them he carefully eased her so she was leaning against him. He wrapped his arms around her and began fondling her breasts. He delicately licked her ear and nuzzled.

 

Alistair was surprised at how aroused he was by the situation. He started breathing heavier when Blake played with her nipples while Jannasilane was staring down at him with desire. He moved his hand and reached between them and began stroking her. She gasped and leaned farther against Blake, granting both men more access. Her desire began to reach its peak and the two Wardens began moving in tandem. “Careful,” Blake warned, as much for his own benefit as theirs. When she clenched around them Blake felt himself go. “Yes,” he cried out. Blake’s release gave Alistair more room to move and he in turn came while Jannasilane was lost in pleasure. It wasn’t long before Jannasilane and Blake lay boneless on top of Alistair. He chuckled but shifted so she was between them on the bed, their heads pillowed on his arm.

 

 Jannasilane was so relieved not to have the need clawing at her any more she relaxed for the first time in weeks. She didn’t want to admit how comforted she felt by their presence and she was truly glad to see Blake again. She didn’t want to be glad to see Alistair. She didn’t want to look at him, knowing his opinion of her was now confirmed. She sat up and moved so she was only touching Blake. Her voice as cool as she could possibly make it she spoke to Alistair, “Well, now that you’ve had your fun I suppose you’ll be leaving. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” She would have been furious to know that both men heard the slight hitch in her voice. When Blake sat up she let him pull her against him, it moved her further away from Alistair.

 

Alistair closed his eyes at her tone. _“Ouch, that hurt. I deserve it though. Maker help me,”_ he thought.  He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed his hands over his face to give himself a minute to compose himself and turned to face the woman he loved. Blake was supporting her but he took the opportunity to mouth the words ‘don’t blow it.’ Alistair hated that he was responsible for the distance between them. He took a deep breath and began, “Janna, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. That was never my intention. I was self-absorbed and inconsiderate. I admit I was every kind of idiot, a total jerk and a complete bastard in every sense of the word. But not for the reasons you think. I love you and didn’t know how to deal with it, you, or what you told me about-”

 

He didn’t get to finish because faster than Blake could stop her she punched him, knocking him right off the bed. “Love,” she hissed crawling to look at Alistair on the floor. “Is that what you call it?” She was incensed.

 

He carefully stood up, holding his nose, “You broke my nothe!” he said disbelievingly. Blake tried not to laugh, but when she stood on the bed and grabbed the templar by his chest hair he lost it. He howled so hard with laughter he fell to the floor.

 

Downstairs Zevran wondered how long he would be stuck waiting for the Wardens to finish their business when the ceiling shook and he heard a loud thump. He was already racing up the stairs when he heard Alistair’s cry of pain shortly followed by a second thump and howling. Nothing in his life surprised him so much as the sight that met him when he opened the door. The Warden was on the floor helpless with laughter. The pocket goddess was pulling on Alistair’s chest hair so hard Zevran winced in sympathy and felt fortunate elves did not have to worry about such tortures. And Alistair, the large warrior was standing with his head tilted back, holding his nose, repeating in disbelief, “you broke my nothe, I tol’ you I lub you an’ you broke my nothe!”

 

“I see I am vastly overdressed for this party. I thought perhaps someone needed rescuing but I am not sure who that might be,” Zevran quipped. “I also did not realize templars were so well-equipped. I wonder how many opportunities I have missed over the years. Would you like me to straighten out your . . . nose, oh mighty Warden? It will do until our healer with the almost magnificent bosom can treat you.” He was delighted to see faint signs of amusement from both Blake and Jannasilane.

 

“I think that’s a good idea. Package, be a good girl and let go of Alistair.” Blake got off the floor and moved closer to the warring parties, “Alistair, sit down and take your medicine. I can’t have you walking through the city with your head tilted back.” Alistair glared at the assassin but did as Blake directed. He tried to hear what Blake was telling Janna but he was speaking too softly. Blake had grabbed her by the arm and walked to the other side of the room, “Package,” he said softly, “I know he hurt you but at least listen to what he has to say, for my sake if not yours or his, please. Zevran and I will be waiting downstairs for you. Both of you.” He gathered up his clothes and grabbed the Antivan by the arm and hustled him downstairs before the elf could say anything to further antagonize Alistair. “You might be right about templars though I haven’t seen many -,” was the last thing Alistair and Janna heard.

 

Awkwardly the two of them began to get dressed. Alistair didn’t want to put on his armor so he settled on the thin cotton pants and shirt he wore underneath to prevent pinching and chafing. Alistair ran his fingers through his hair, wondering where to start. Finally he pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. “Are you going to hit me again? Not that I don’t deserve it but I would prefer a slap in the face to a broken nose.” Jannasilane smirked but she sat down and just crossed her arms, waiting for him to continue. Alistair sighed, “I’ve missed you. You, not just the, um, the sex bit. Not that I haven’t missed that too,” he hastily added. “Let me start over. I wasn’t sure love really existed between people. I understood the concept but wasn’t sure I believed it, and certainly not that _I_ would find it. Templar and Grey Warden are not exactly careers conducive to the whole love and commitment thing, you know. And I always assumed fidelity and marriage would naturally follow.

 

I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you. I knew I was attracted to you, more than any woman I’ve ever met. I enjoyed talking to you. I miss our morning talks about anything and nothing. The happiest part of my life has been since we met you on the road to Lothering. Even when I was miserable I was still happier than before we met. I didn’t have any experience dealing with women in a, a social or romantic capacity before Duncan recruited me. You know that. I thought what I felt for you was friendship mixed with lust and . . . and gratitude for being with me.” Alistair flushed with embarrassment. “That sounds pretty lame. I don’t understand why you even bothered with me, but I’m glad you did.” He got up and started pacing back and forth and then leaned against the wall to face her. “When you came to Blake and me at Soldier’s Peak to talk to us about Griffons and Wardens, do you know what I heard? That my feelings and yours might not be real. Then later in the tent I heard you saying it might be necessary for you to be, um, to be intimate with other men. The very thought hurt me. I realized I loved you and dreams I didn’t realize I’d been building started to tumble. I swear I could hear them crashing. I never believed you _wanted_ to be with these imaginary men, but I believed that you believed in the possibility and I couldn’t handle it. You were saying fidelity might not be an option and I couldn’t dream of sharing the woman I loved with anybody else.”

 

Alistair waited, hoping she would say something. When she didn’t he continued, “It’s hard for me to think around you, sometimes. Leaving Redcliffe to go to the Circle gave me the chance to think clearly. One thing became absolutely crystal, I love you, Jannasilane Alenahaella. I would rather have you in my life even if it means that it can’t be one hundred percent than not have you in it at all. I know about Teagan and am guessing you were with Riordan. I can’t say it doesn’t bother me at all but I can live with it. If you can forgive me I’m willing to do anything I can so we can both find happiness. After today I understand so much more than I did then.” He watched her closely, hoping against hope.

 

Jannasilane felt herself softening towards him but was determined to have her say, to make sure he understood exactly how she felt. “I too was happy, until after Soldier’s Peak. You made me feel as if I were a-, as if I belonged in a brothel,” she stalked towards him angrily. “You turned to me in the night when you felt the need and then you rolled away from me as if I disgusted you. You made no effort to see if I was s-satisfied.” She reddened with a mixture of shame, embarrassment and anger. When tears started falling down her cheeks Alistair slid to the floor at the magnitude of the hurt he had inflicted. “I tried talking to you and you turned away. I was hurt and frustrated and yes, I had sex with Zevran. I didn’t plan on it but he seemed to be offering me comfort or relief you refused. I was wrong but that’s between him and me. Maybe I wanted to hurt you, maybe I wanted to prove that others could value me but I was wrong. I left with Riordan because I valued myself, and I could not let another person dictate my self-worth. Teagan helped me see what I was doing. I was scared of what might happen to me if I stayed.”

 

Alistair was shaking his head, “I am so, so sorry,” he said brokenly. “I was struggling with myself, not you. If I had just spoken to you even a little we could have avoided so much pain. I tried not to reach for you at night because I wanted to be clear about what I wanted and could accept. I was so mad with myself for not being fair or honorable in my treatment _of_ you, I didn’t realize what I was doing _to_ you.” Slowly he stood again. “I guess that’s that, then. I hope in time you can forgive me enough so we can be friends.” He began gathering up his armor.

 

“Ali,” he turned around, startled that she called him by her nickname for him and noticed her looking at the amulet around his neck. “That is your mother’s amulet, is it not?”

 

“I, yes it is. I forgot to thank you. I’ve worn it ever since you gave it to me, to remind me of you, because you gave it to me.” He couldn’t read her expression but he felt hope flare up again. “For the record, I have always hated being Maric’s bastard son and certainly don’t consider myself a noble. I never, ever felt you were unworthy. Instead I’ve always believed you deserve better than me.” He went downstairs to get Blake and Zevran.


	31. Riordan is . . .

Alistair got as far as two steps down when he turned around and went back inside to Jannasilane. She hadn’t moved. She looked at him suspiciously when he returned, “I forgot something,” he mumbled. Quickly he gently cupped the sides of her face and kissed her deeply and thoroughly. He felt her tremble and lean into him and inwardly danced for joy. When he stopped she was looking at him bemusedly and his breathing was none too steady. He leaned his forehead against hers, “Remember this, Jannasilane Alenahaella, I love you with everything I have and there will never be another. I love you today, tomorrow, always.”

 

She watched him leave. When he was out of sight she placed shaky fingers on her lips. “I’m very much afraid I love you, too, Alistair Theirin,” she whispered. “Maker help us both.” In a daze she looked around the hideaway. When her gaze landed on the bed in the next room she swore she could feel her toes blushing. She flushed even more when she saw how neglected the place was, including herself. She sighed and wished there was time for a bath.

 

While waiting for Alistair and Jannasilane to finish their long overdue discussion Blake and Zevran explored the ‘store’ without speaking. Blake felt awkward around the Antivan for the first time in their acquaintance. He knew that there was no way for the other man not to know what went on upstairs, especially since he saw the three of them naked together. His groin twitched at the idea of adding Zevran to that scenario.

 

Zevran wasn’t going to lie to himself and say he wasn’t at all envious. He couldn’t recall seeing such an attractive display of human flesh before today. They were all superior examples of the species. He couldn’t help smiling at the picture of Pocket Goddess pulling on the warrior’s chest hair. He was glad for the Warden’s sake that his chest hair was more of an attractive dusting.

 

Blake raised an eyebrow, “Why are you smiling?”

 

“Did the pocket goddess really break Alistair’s nose because he told her he loved her? And why was she yanking him by the chest hair? Is this a Fereldan custom, dear Warden, or an Alistair one?” Zevran’s droll questions allowed Blake to relax.

 

He laughed, “Package has a temper and it finally came to full boil with Alistair. I hope he explains himself without inserting those oversize boots too far into his mouth.” He shrugged, “We’ll know soon enough.” Blake opened a door and found stairs going down. “Curious,” he murmured, “most buildings in Denerim don’t have a cellar.” He and Zevran went downstairs.

 

“Well, well, you Grey Wardens are a tricky lot,” Zevran said appreciatively. It wasn’t so much a cellar as a well house. A Warden could stay hidden in the building for some time and never have to leave to retrieve water. Zevran pulled on a rope on the wall and realized it was a pulley system; buckets full of water could be pulled to the top instead of carried one at a time. A pipe from upstairs over an opening in the floor suggested to him that the waste water was disposed of just as conveniently.

 

“Huh, that’s nifty,” Alistair joined them. “I wonder how long this has been a Warden hideout.” He led the way back upstairs which was the source for a fair amount of noise. “What is she doing in there?” He opened the door and they could hear Jannasilane cursing in the next room. They looked in to see her standing precariously on a chair and trying to loop some rope over a hook on the wall. Alistair moved quickly and plucked her off the chair with one arm and secured the rope with his other hand.

 

Once she was down on the ground she glared mutinously at him, “I could have done it,” she pouted.

 

“And I helped,” Alistair replied in exasperation. “What are you doing?” She lifted her chin and told him, daring him to say anything. “Good idea,” he said cheerfully, “what do you want us to do?” She looked at him suspiciously before deciding she was being silly. Judging by the amused expressions of Blake and Zevran she was correct. Soon Blake was at the well filling buckets of water. Zevran started the cook stove to heat water and prepare some soup from the plentiful store of supplies. Alistair started filling a small tub for cleaning while Jannasilane straightened and cleaned.

 

When Alistair finished filling the tub and turned around he saw Jannasilane eyeing it wistfully, “What is it, my love?”

 

She blushed and refused to meet his eyes, “Nothing, I just wish I had time for a bath and to wash my hair.”

 

Alistair’s eyes practically crossed out of their sockets but he offered to help, “I think that tub is too small even for you but I can help you wash your hair. I love your hair; I’ve always thought it was like nature’s defiance in the face of winter, so many shades of gold, red, and brown with streaks of lightning running through it. Kind of fierce and proud, like you.”

 

Jannasilane looked at him in surprise, “Ali that is the most poetic thing I think you’ve ever said.” She grew flustered at the warm glow in his hazel eyes and looked away in confusion. She’d forgotten how he made her feel whenever he looked at her like that.

 

In the other room Blake and Zevran were sitting at the table while the soup simmered. “Camp will be more interesting now that the pocket goddess will be rejoining us,” Zevran said casually. “I do hope she doesn’t plan on breaking Alistair’s nose every day though Morrigan might enjoy that.” Blake laughed. He sobered up when Zevran brought up Riordan, “Where do you think her most recent traveling companion is? I do not like this disappearing act.”

 

“No, neither do I,” Blake frowned. “I can only think that something happened to him, Package says she doesn’t know where he is but maybe she can tell us more when she comes out.” He looked at Zevran. There were so many things he wished to say but what he did to Package kept getting in the way. “Zevran, about Package, I . . . never mind,” he sat back and brooded. They were silent, each man lost in his own thoughts.

 

When she and Alistair came out of the bedroom Zevran looked her over very carefully and frowned slightly. He stood and made a big production of seating her at the table as if she were royalty then quickly took hold of an arm and examined it closely. “You have not been taking care of yourself, some of these gouges are fresh and others are days if not weeks old. You are thinner and I do not believe you have been sleeping well. Your loveliness now has a certain ethereal quality which does not suit you as much as your usual wild beauty. Why have you done this to yourself?”

 

He held onto her arm until she answered. She flushed and looked away in embarrassment, “Have you ever had to fight to hold on to who you are, afraid that one false step on your part and the force besieging you will suck you down a never-ending hole of madness or self-loathing?”

 

Neither Warden stopped him when he took hold of her chin and turned her face back to him. Her eyes were glazed and haunted, full of shadows, “Yes, I understand. I am sorry you had to go through such an ordeal.” And he did know; his Crow training was designed to make one lose such a battle. It was their way of eliminating the weak. Gently he patted her arm, “Now you are back with your Wardens and we have a delicious soup prepared by yours truly.” He moved to the stove and gracefully began filling bowls and cups. Jannasilane watched him, confused by his avuncular, even paternal, tone. She wasn’t the only one.

 

Once her nose was teased by the delicious aroma of Zevran’s soup all she could think of was eating. She forced herself to eat slowly, savoring every bite and every sip of broth. Alistair and Blake quickly emptied their bowls and refilled them. Zevran idly thought a good cook could make a fortune working at a Warden base. Once their initial hunger was sated Blake was ready for some answers, “Package, tell me everything you can remember about Riordan, what he said, what he took with him. You arrived in Denerim and then . . .”

 

“We did not come straight to Denerim from Redcliffe; ours was more of a zigzag. He knows people, either through the Grey Wardens or his family connections he thought could give us news. And possibly a different viewpoint than we might find here in the capitol. Once or twice we had to avoid troops which delayed us as well,” Alistair wondered at the sudden blush when she said that. Blake and Zevran were intrigued though tried not to show it, they had their own ideas and neither thought the templar or Package would appreciate hearing them. Studiously she avoided looking at Alistair when she continued, “it was late when we arrived in Denerim and we had to be very careful arriving here. We decided to rest for the night,” to his credit Alistair said nothing even though his cheeks were stained pink, “and the next morning he made plans.”

 

Jannasilane tilted her head thoughtfully, “I believe he was going to make his way to the docks. I was under the impression his friend might not be in town and if recently arrived could be in a tavern, or something, somewhere.”

 

Zevran nodded his head, “Sounds like a sailor, perhaps. Even in these times many ships stop in Denerim though not always of the highest character. It is good he did not take you with him, you are much too attractive and would draw a great deal of unwelcome attention.” Alistair was obvious in his agreement. He shuddered to think of what might have happened in some of the more notorious dockside bars.

 

“Riordan said I was too conspicuous and did not know how to blend in, that without meaning to I could endanger both of us. I thought he meant I wasn’t sneaky enough, which is also truth. He did say it could take two or three days to find his friend and I should not concern myself if I did not see him. That it would be best if there were not too many trips to and from this ‘abandoned’ store. I began to worry when he didn’t return on the fourth day. Finally, six days after he left I went out looking for him.”

 

Alistair took her hands in his, “I’m glad you weren’t hurt, that could have been really dangerous for you.” Blake pictured her lying by the docks the same way Elissa lay in the library and was grateful to the absent Warden for convincing her not to go with him.

 

Jannasilane kept her eyes on Alistair, not realizing how telling that was to the other two men. “I know I am not clever enough to talk to people and get information but I thought I could at least use my ability to sense Wardens to find him. It was odd, Ali,” she frowned as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. “As much as I tried I could not get a good sense of even which direction to look. I know he is alive, but it as if the walls of the city themselves try to confuse me or as if he is far underground. Sometimes I thought I sensed him in one direction and then minutes later a different one.”

 

“Do you think it might be different now, now that you’re feeling better?” Alistair was careful in how he referred to her condition when they arrived.

 

“I do not know, but I do not think so,” she chewed her lips as she thought about it.

 

“Well, you’ll have an opportunity to try again over the next few days, Package. We need to track down a Brother Genitivi and talk to him about the Urn of Sacred Ashes. He’s here in Denerim. We can nose around a bit for Riordan,” Blake glanced at Zevran who nodded that he understood, “but we may not find him. You need to be prepared to leave him behind. I will not leave you here without us. Even if we find him it may not be practical to attempt a rescue.”

 

Jannasilane gathered up some of the used dishes and took them over to the basin by the stove in order to give herself time to think. She was glad Blake was willing to look for Riordan and she knew he was right about leaving him behind. She didn’t want to think about it. _“Little one, I may not return before your young Wardens arrive. Do not wait for me.”_ Riordan’s last words to her before he left made her wonder how strongly he suspected he might not return. “I know,” she said quietly. She could feel Alistair’s brooding gaze on her back. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to leave.

 

_“ . . . Do not wait for me.”_

 

He woke up groaning in absolute darkness. It took a minute for him to realize he was naked, that they, whoever they were, hadn’t even left him his small clothes. That did not bode well for his future health. He cursed himself for being careless as he remembered how he came to be captured. Loghain’s spies, or Howe’s, were better than he thought. He tried to remember everything and was relieved that he had said nothing about the Warden’s arms cache or Duncan’s daughter. He had a feeling he was going to have a lot of practice saying nothing. Riordan hoped that Alistair and Blake reached Denerim soon. He didn’t expect them to look for him; he didn’t even know if he was still in the city, he only wanted them to take care of Jannasilane. He smiled a little, remembering the past few days. She turned out to be an amazingly sensual woman, willing to explore different aspects of her sexuality.

 

_Riordan knew he surprised her by not letting her wear small clothes until they were close to Denerim. She came to enjoy the occasional cool breeze against her flesh under her robe and the more frequent warm hand and nimble fingers. Sometimes he wore his leather armor so she could tease him in return. Once they hid among the trees as troops passed. They had to be quiet in order not to be discovered. Riordan protected her with his body while they waited._

_He had always enjoyed the spice of danger or discovery in his romantic encounters. The small battalion was more than halfway past their location when a spirit of deviltry entered him. Very carefully he eased her robe off her shoulders so he could caress her breasts, bringing them to hard peaks. She really had the most magnificent pair he could remember seeing and he loved playing with them. He could tell she was excited by the way she pushed back against him so he had more room to play. The harshness of his armor against her tender flesh made her clench. She began to breathe harder and had to bite her lips in order not to cry out. As soon as the troops were gone he turned her around and lifted her up so she was facing him. He didn’t let her down for some time. Her eyes glittered strangely when he straightened her clothes for her afterwards but didn’t say anything. He had the odd feeling she was sad about something, but then her expression changed and he thought he must have imagined it._

_It was late when they entered the shelter Riordan led them to in Denerim. It was two small rooms above an ‘abandoned’ shop near the docks, a secret Warden hideaway. After Sophia Dryden the Wardens had prudently created several such places in many nations across Thedas. They quickly went to bed and the next morning Riordan left on Grey Warden business. He warned her not to leave the premises and to wait for him or the other Wardens. His business might take some time and they might have to leave in a hurry. There was plenty of food and other supplies for a few weeks so she wouldn’t starve. She nodded in acknowledgement and wished him success._

 

Riordan remembered how she’d offered to come with him and thanked the Maker he convinced her to stay behind. He was quite fond of her and hoped that she would find happiness with Alistair. There was a good man in there waiting to come out. He had no hopes of escaping with his life, not that he wouldn’t be on the alert for any opportunities. He wondered if dying from torture was worse than the Calling. It would certainly be the more ignoble end to all these years as a Grey Warden. He braced himself when he heard the footsteps of several guards coming his way. He emptied his mind and pretended to be still asleep when they entered his cell. It didn’t stop them from grabbing him but it did allow him a few more seconds to listen for information.


	32. An Antivan Milk Sandwich?

Denerim was behind them and they were setting up camp for the first time since Jannasilane rejoined them. Morrigan was irritated and sniffed disdainfully when the toy came back. She’d hoped the miserable female was gone for good. Leliana, on the other hand, was ecstatic to see her friend. She hoped this meant that she and Alistair would be back together soon. In spite of her own disappointments she was still a romantic at heart.

 

Jannasilane had mixed feelings about leaving Denerim. She didn’t like leaving knowing that Riordan was likely being held captive but she knew he would agree with Blake. Building an army to defeat the Blight was more important than one man. She and Alistair strolled through different areas of Denerim but no matter where they went she couldn’t get more than a general sense of his direction. He might even be out of the city, the connection was so faint. They couldn’t enter the Alienage, which was the wrong direction anyway, or the Palace District. Too many of Loghain’s soldiers and Howe’s men roamed the streets under the guise of keeping order for them to escape detection. Even Slim Couldry didn’t know of a way in, but he was going to keep his ear to the ground. Maybe next time they were in town he would have some news for them.

 

Zevran had carefully covered the area near the docks. People were spooked and non-talkative; disappearances were pretty common in that area, more so than usual. Worse not even he, an elf, could get into the Alienage to see what he could learn. Many times in the past he’d been able to collect information from disgruntled elves. Too often those with servants forgot they were around.

 

“Janna, do you want your own tent?” Alistair asked. Under no circumstance did he wish to put pressure on her. He felt like he was treading on needles, one false foot and he would lose all the ground he thought he gained.

 

“That would not be practical, would it Alistair? We both know that there will be s-sex. I see no need for us to advertise to others when that happens,” she replied unhappily. She wished she could be mad at him; it would be much easier than this wary politeness between them. She couldn’t even say she didn’t appreciate his attempts to be considerate but the past easiness of their relationship was missing.

 

“Right, of course, I just don’t want you to think we’re going to take advantage of, you know, your condition,” he whispered the last two words. Jannasilane would have snapped at him but he looked as miserable and uncomfortable as she felt. She gave him a weak smile instead. _“Maker, this is torture,”_ Alistair thought. Then he grinned, “Have you met Shale, the newest addition to our band of crazies?”

 

That grin was the Alistair she knew and she couldn’t help responding in kind. She cocked her head and looked at him through her lashes, not realizing how coquettish she appeared, “Not yet, you and Blake have been rather cagey. I do not even know if this Shale is a male person or a female person. Should I be worried?”

 

Alistair’s gaze became molten gold as he looked at her, “Never. I meant what I said before. You are the only woman for me now and always.” She blushed and his expression lightened, “I think you should meet Shale for yourself and make up your own mind.” No matter how she teased and cajoled he wouldn’t say another word while they put up the tent. Blake joined them just as they were done and Alistair scowled at him in mock reproof, “I’ve noticed you have a remarkable ability to not be around when it’s time to set up our tent.”

 

Blake smiled innocently, “I’m just being a good leader and making sure everybody has what they need.” Jannasilane hip-bumped him and he looked down at her, “Careful, Package, I need my knees.” When she stuck her tongue out at him he just laughed, “Maker I’m glad to have you back with us.”

 

“She hasn’t met Shale yet, don’t you think it’s time she did?”

 

“Shale’s on the other side of Bodahn’s cart,” Blake replied with a grin. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

 

Jannasilane looked back and forth between her two Wardens. They wore identical expressions of amusement and she was pretty sure it was at her expense. She followed them. Bodahn and Sandal seemed pleased to see her and she happily stopped and chatted with them for a few minutes. Sandal even gave her a new enchanted rune he created. When she saw the two Grey Wardens patiently waiting for her she quickly caught up to them. She could hear an odd gravelly sound up ahead and wondered. They went around a large shrub and saw Zevran talking to –“You found the golem!” she exclaimed with excitement. Eagerly she ran forward to where the large rock creature was haranguing the elf.

 

“Pocket Goddess? The one the swamp witch calls the Wardens’ toy, the Warden calls Package and the redheaded sister calls ‘dear friend?’ For one so small the miniature it certainly has a lot of names,” the golem rumbled.

 

“Mini it? Oh, I like that. Perhaps I shall start calling you that instead of Pocket Goddess all the time. Or even Minit, as in Alistair’s world changed in a minit.” Zevran twinkled roguishly at her and Blake stifled a snort.

 

Jannasilane ignored the byplay as she stared up at the golem in awe, “I have read of golems but never actually seen one. A single golem held back the darkspawn horde long enough for the dwarves to shore up their defenses and rally together to protect Orzammar.”

 

“The small it certainly has an understanding of the capabilities of a golem. Surprising really.”

 

Jannasilane looked up thoughtfully at the golem, “I thought golems were taller. It’s rather nice for me; I frequently get a crick in my neck when I talk to Sten or Alistair. I’d probably be in danger of falling over backwards if you were any taller.”

 

“I can fix that,” and Alistair quickly lifted her in his arms and sat her on his shoulder. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself talking to me, my love.” Jannasilane turned bright pink.

 

Meanwhile Shale had been doing what could only be called golemic sputtering, “I used to be taller. Ten feet tall! But the mage Wilhelm’s wife said I was too big for the house and had me cut down. Miserable hag.”

 

“How does one cut down a golem?” Blake was curious.

 

“With a chisel. And a great deal of nerve.” Shale withdrew into a brooding silence, no doubt envisioning gruesome ways in which the woman might have met her demise. Knowing from past experience the golem was done talking for now the Wardens and Zevran turned to leave.

 

Jannasilane waited patiently for a few steps before speaking, “Alistair, you can put me down now.” Alistair ignored her and kept on walking. “Alistair,” she said more firmly, “I would like you to please let go of me.”

 

“I don’t know if I want to do that. I like holding you, and this way if I want I can do this,” he turned his head and kissed her thigh. She felt the heat through the thin material of her robe. “Or even this,” and this time he lightly bit her, causing her to jump and feel even more heat.

 

She knew she was blushing. Again. “Ali,” she said sweetly and with determination, “please put me down. I cannot see your pretty face from up here.”

 

That got him moving. He shifted her so she was facing him and slowly let her down to the ground, “You think I’m pretty?” One eyebrow was raised in disbelief.

 

She opened her eyes wide, “Oh yes, put you in a nice flowered frock and surely you would rival Morrigan for beauty.” She stepped away from his reach. “Well, you might need some earrings or a necklace. Maybe some makeup and a different hairstyle.”

 

“I’d pay to see that,” Blake jested.

 

“I think I would rather see you in such attire, Warden. Perhaps both of you, that would surely be a sight for sore eyes,” Zevran quipped.

 

“Rather a sight to create sore eyes,” Morrigan sneered, “possibly even cause blindness.” She turned her gaze towards Jannasilane, “You have returned and appear none the wiser. One would have hoped you would learn something from the distinguished man you left behind but apparently that did not happen.”

 

“That is not true, Morrigan. Have you ever heard of an Antivan milk sandwich? I have to say since meeting Blake and Alistair again I have been overflowing with the milk of human kindness,” Jannasilane with a twinkle in her eye. Zevran, a few steps behind her, nearly choked on his tongue and Blake bit his lip in an effort not to say anything. He had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t know what she was talking about.

 

Morrigan didn’t know what to say and she suspected the silly fool was trying to make fun of her and decided to leave. Before she glided away she couldn’t help remarking, “You now have your toy back, Wardens. Make sure she doesn’t lose you like she did the Orlesian one. We can’t have all of you disappearing.” She walked away as silently as she joined them.

 

Once Morrigan was well out of earshot Alistair couldn’t help asking, “ **What** exactly _is_ an Antivan milk sandwich?”

 

Blake couldn’t help himself; he started smiling wickedly thinking of how to explain it to the templar. Zevran, who had just caught his breath back, started chuckling. Looking at them Alistair was no longer sure he wanted to know. Before either of them could explain Jannasilane spoke up, “It is a bun covered in creamy milk. Since it is from Antiva I thought Morrigan would think it was something dirty, because of all Zevran’s comments. I am tired of her talking to me as if I were a child or a simpleton.”

 

Blake looked at her strangely, “Is that what Riordan told you?”

 

“Mmm, yes. I saw a book and opened it. I did not have a chance to read it; I just saw the words before he took it away. He said his friend didn’t like people touching his books. He looked rather like you do now when I asked him what it was; I am not sure but I think now all he said was not truth.”

 

“Where on Thedas did he take you?” Blake murmured to himself. Leliana was approaching them and he hoped she could explain it to Package. He was going to have a hard enough time telling Alistair without the former templar becoming a pillar of flame.

 

“I am so glad you’re back! I have missed you so much and the Wardens have been as grim and irritable as bears poked with a stick. Have you met Shale?” Leliana chattered away happily and hugged her friend. Blake waited until she wound down and took her aside. “She said _what?_ ” and then began giggling. She nodded in agreement with something Blake said and easily maneuvered Jannasilane so they could be alone.

 

Blake looked at Zevran, “Do you want to tell him,” he pointed to the now very uncomfortable templar, “or shall I?”

 

That night Jannasilane made every excuse she could think of to delay entering the tent she shared with the Wardens. When Alistair said he was going to do a final patrol before turning in Blake offered to join him. She hurriedly entered their tent and put on her nightshirt. She was under the covers, including her head, when her Wardens came back. She knew she was as bright a red as Alistair had ever been when Blake commented that he would like a tall glass of creamy milk.

 

“Give it a rest already,” Alistair complained. He lowered his voice when he saw the very unmoving lump in Jannasilane’s bedroll, “At least it shut Morrigan up. We have Wynne now; do we still need that black-hearted b- witch?”

 

“You’re just jealous because she’s prettier than you,” Blake made kissy noises at the templar, causing Jannasilane’s blanket to twitch when she couldn’t smother her laughter.

 

Alistair pulled back the cover, “A-ha, there you are. You shouldn’t be laughing, you’re supposed to be on my side, not that of our mean and evil leader.”

 

“You are right, Alistair,” Jannasilane sighed. “You are _much_ prettier than Morrigan with your full pouty lips and warm golden eyes. You have very thick lashes too, the envy of any girl.”

 

“You’re getting as bad as he is. Turn your head while I cry myself to sleep over this horrible treatment,” Alistair quickly shucked off his uniform and climbed into his bedroll. On the other side of the tent Blake did the same with more grace.

 

Soon there was silence and each of them was occupied with their own thoughts. Finally Blake spoke up, “Package?”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“Do me a favor. Never, ever utter the phrase or even think ‘Antivan milk sandwich’ again. I don’t think I can take it.”

 

“Maker,” Alistair groaned. Yet he couldn’t help smiling to himself. Jannasilane was back with them and if it took the rest of his life he was going to prove to her that she could trust him. He couldn’t think of a more worthy goal.


	33. Giggles and Golems

Jannasilane sighed. “What deep thoughts are on your mind?” Leliana wanted to know. “Are things not going well with you and Alistair?”

 

“What? Oh, no, that is . . . um, I guess you could say we’re feeling our way. I know I am the one holding back; maybe in time . . .” she shrugged, then burst out, “Leliana, sometimes we are so polite to each other I feel like screaming and other times it is almost like when we first met.” She was quiet for a few minutes. “I, I do not quite trust him like I did. I want to but that is not the same,” she almost whispered the words.

 

“No, it’s not,” she put her arm through her friend’s, “but give it more time. I will tell you this, he loves you very much. At Redcliffe, when he learned you were gone, he changed. He was very much looking forward to seeing you again then he read your letter. Many times I saw him looking at your letter and rereading it. He was no longer the rather goofy, charming young warrior. He rarely spoke; sometimes I would even say he was positively surly. Finally he confronted me, asking me if I knew anything. He was so miserable, Janna, that I told him what I knew and what I thought. I think he would have found it easier to take a deathblow. I believe him when he said it was a mistake, a misunderstanding. It does not change the damage, I know.”

 

“When we met in Denerim he said he loved me and never meant to hurt me,” Jannasilane sighed again. “I broke his nose.”

 

“You . . . you broke his nose?” Leliana looked at her in disbelief then turned her gaze in Alistair’s direction. “Really? You broke his nose,” and she couldn’t stop herself from giggling. Jannasilane flushed and then she was giggling, too. She started laughing even harder when Leliana breathlessly added, “Better not tell Morrigan.” For the rest of the day whenever Alistair scratched or otherwise touched his nose the two of them burst out laughing.

 

Later that evening Blake was deep in conversation with Sten. Alistair came up to Jannasilane where she was sitting next to Leliana, “Would you care to walk with me, my love? I think we might have a nice view from the hilltop there.” _“And a chance for some private conversation since we’ll be able to see anybody coming,”_ he thought to himself. He held out his hand and held his breath, hoping she would agree to come with him.

 

Jannasilane didn’t know why she felt nervous all of a sudden. Maybe it was the barely masked hope in his gaze which called forth an answering hope in her but she couldn’t resist. She took his hand and allowed him to lead her away. They’d shared a tent in the days since leaving Denerim but oddly enough they’d done nothing more than sleep. Every morning she found herself snuggled in his arms and frequently she could feel the evidence of his desire but he didn’t push and she didn’t feel that clawing need, at least not yet. She was relieved and confused at the same time.

 

Once they were settled he put his arm around her and she allowed herself to lean against him. For a few minutes it was like before Soldier’s Peak and they just sat quietly enjoying each other’s company. Alistair hated to break the rare peace but knew he had to take advantage of this time. He kissed the top of her head, “My love, I’ve been thinking about your, _our_ situation.” She stirred against him and he held her firmly by his side. “I’m not going to avoid talking anymore just because it makes me uncomfortable or I don’t know what to say. That’s what drove you away before. If I had just talked to you about being confused and not knowing how to handle your news; if I had told you that I felt it was wrong for me to t-touch you, to take advantage of our closeness; if I had explained that I was disappointed in _myself_ that morning and never you . . .”

 

Alistair ran his free hand over his face, “I never talked much about growing up in Redcliffe beyond the bare facts. I didn’t have much, I guess you figured that already, and I was never allowed to want anything for myself, have anything for myself or entertain any hopes for a future. You changed that and I felt I had to be perfect and honorable in order to deserve you. I was beating myself up about not treating you the way you deserve and not acting like the man I want to be. The man I feel you deserve.”

 

Jannasilane was touched, “I am hardly a perfect person, Alistair. I certainly do not ask you to be perfect for me.”

 

“Well,” he chuckled shakily, “that gives me hope since I’m far from perfect. But I still haven’t said what I wanted to say. I learned two things in Denerim. I was so scared when I saw you in that Warden hideaway; you were suffering so much and I finally started to understand what you meant. The other thing, well, umm, I wasn’t expecting to, er, uh,” he was stuttering so much that Jannasilane finally had to put her fingers on his lips. She came to her knees and faced him; even in the light of the moon she could tell he was bright red. She looked at him with wide eyes and he groaned, “When Blake, that is the three of us, I didn’t expect to like it but I knew you needed us and that was enough. But I did. Like it, I mean. When he was touching you and you were looking at me I, um, liked it. More than a little. Not as much as when it was just us but still . . .”

 

Now she was as red as he was, “Yes, I agree. I too think I enjoyed it more than just the release from the Need. I do not think I would enjoy it all the time because I was very full, and I find I prefer a more intimate . . . um, time.”

 

Alistair didn’t think it was a good idea to tell her that just her mentioning being full was causing him to swell. He couldn’t control the huskiness in his voice, however, “That makes it easier to tell you what I’ve been thinking, how to accommodate your Need. When it starts to be too much I mean. If you want to be with me again, that is. I don’t know if I could handle a bunch of strangers, and I’m not saying that to hurt you but just to be honest. But I think I would be more comfortable if we chose some people we could trust like we both trust Blake. What I mean is if I weren’t around for whatever reason and you needed . . . I trust him not to take advantage of you or hurt you. And maybe sometimes, if all of us agreed, the three of us could, you know,” he shrugged.

 

“I did not expect this, you are saying we would select men who would be like a, a backup harem?” her voice squeaked on the last two words.

 

“I suppose it might seem like that,” he answered reluctantly. “I admit I don’t like the idea of you being with somebody else, but I understand now that it might have to happen. I want to be with you, I want to have a real relationship with you and that means living with your Need. I hate how vulnerable you were in Denerim after Riordan disappeared. Sometimes I think about what might have happened if we didn’t show up when we did and it scares me to my toes.”

 

“It scares me too, Ali. In the past some Griffonsong have been able to temporarily stop the Need by, erm, umm, seeking the close company of a non-Warden at a place like The Pearl. I do not want to do that. I think I would go mad,” she shivered and burrowed into his arms, seeking shelter. He stroked her soothingly and wondered why the Maker allowed such things and how many other young Griffonsong there were in Thedas suffering as his Jannasilane suffered. Finally she sat up and looked at him, as if searching his soul, “Ali, are you sure about this? I appreciate the offer but I do not wish to hurt you,” she didn’t add how much she would be hurt if he was wrong about what he could take.

 

“I am sure that I want to try. Nothing can hurt me more than being without you, than you leaving me. I will never love another woman, I **know** this. If this doesn’t work we’ll try something else. I think if we aren’t together I could at least survive being without you better if I knew we at least tried everything possible to make it work. It’s not going to be easy, love, and I don’t promise not to get jealous sometimes. I would rather be killed by the Archdemon than hurt you again or live life without you, this much I know.”

 

She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder when he talked about dying, “Do not say that, Ali. I do not want you to die.”

 

“Does that mean you’ll think about it? That we have a chance?” he asked hopefully.

 

She nodded, “I have missed you, Alistair. I never dreamed you would be willing to . . .” she waved her hand in the air as she tried to find the words. “I will think on this.”

 

Alistair was disappointed but he figured he really couldn’t expect her to just jump in his arms and the past two months would simply vanish as if they never happened. Jannasilane reluctantly let go of him so she was sitting next to him once again. She wasn’t ready to admit that she didn’t want to be with anybody but him, even though that would probably prove to be impossible. That he even made the offer to work with her in finding a solution they could both hopefully live with went a long way to breaking down some of the walls she built between them.

 

Alistair lay back in the grass and pulled her down next to him. He counted it a small victory that she didn’t resist at all and lay down close to him, still holding his hand. They allowed the peace of the night to wash over them, cleansing some of the bitterness she carried. “Janna love, how are you feeling? Since Denerim we haven’t, you haven’t, unless you and Blake . . . not that I’m trying to pry or anything,” he asked her quietly, carefully.

 

She propped herself on her side so she could look at him while she answered him. She lost herself admiring his beauty in the moonlight until he began to stir restlessly under her gaze. She hoped he couldn’t tell she was blushing when she replied, “No, Blake and I have not . . . and I do not think he wants to unless necessary. I know he has feelings for Zevran. The Need is like the darkspawn, even when they are not close enough to sense you know they are somewhere and need to be ready for their attack. I too am surprised, considering how bad it was before you came to Denerim. Maybe it is like your nightmares? My presence helps keep them away and your presence blunts the Need?”

 

“Was it, was it like that with Riordan?” he couldn’t help asking and then wished he hadn’t.

 

Jannasilane looked away then, embarrassed, “I do not know. Um, there were not many days we did not . . . uh, do something.”

 

“Do something? Oh,” he was quiet at first and then asked another question, “Do you miss him?”

 

“I do not like to think of him being held prisoner somewhere,” she hedged. “I think before my Time we were friends. He told me stories of Duncan and my mother and he listened when I talked about the farm where I grew up. We talked about the Grey Wardens, traveling, oh different things. Traveling with him was interesting and easy.” She bit her lip and opted for full disclosure, “later he was, I suppose you could say he was very sophisticated. Perhaps as knowledgeable as Zevran. I do not know that I share all his tastes, though some things . . .” She frowned thoughtfully, “I do miss his company as a friend but I am glad to be back.”

 

“O-o-k-a-y, that’s enough information for now,” he drawled. Then he pulled her on top of him and held her close and whispered in her ear, “I’m glad to have you back.”

 

Later she would think a demon took control of her mouth, “There is one thing I found I enjoyed, Alistair. I liked the feeling of air, and other things,” she illustrated by walking her fingers on his chest, “against my bare skin under my robe while we traveled.”

 

Alistair’s face was blank for a minute until he realized what she meant. His eyes crossed at the idea of touching her so intimately wherever and whenever he wanted, at least when she was in arm’s reach. “Maker,” he gasped, “for the first time in my life I wish I wasn’t so tall.”

 

Jannasilane snickered and soon he joined her. She gasped and wriggled when he didn’t resist the urge to discover whether she wore smallclothes under her robe. He stood and pulled her up. Gently he leaned down to kiss her, pleased she didn’t pull away. He felt he was finally making some progress and he was determined not to push too far too soon.

 

When they strolled back to camp holding hands nobody said anything though Morrigan grimaced in disgust. Alistair had first watch with Shale and walked Jannasilane to their tent before going on duty. Blake soon joined her. He waited until she was comfortably settled before speaking, “You and Alistair have a nice talk, Package? Should I leave you alone tonight?”

 

“Shut up Blake,” she responded and rolled over in a huff. She couldn’t help smiling, though.

 

In his tent Zevran smiled. He was happy that Pocket Goddess and the templar were finding their way back together without any assistance from him. For a while he was worried that he might have to intervene and judging by his success in making plans he was quite satisfied not to be needed. Leliana was also smiling in her tent. She loved a good romance and went to sleep composing one about the innocent templar and the ‘package’ which changed his life.

 

Alistair couldn’t wait for his patrol to be over. He tended to agree with Blake that they didn’t really need to set watch any longer now that they had the never-sleeping Shale but the warrior in him wasn’t ready to give way on the issue. At least with Shale around he didn’t have to take night patrol so often. The golem usually didn’t bother talking to him, which was fine, but tonight was different. “I have noticed that it frequently seeks the company of the mini it.”

 

“Uh, true,” Alistair acknowledged.

 

“And the mini it does not seem to mind even though there are more worthy individuals for the mini its attention. It was surly and now it makes silly jokes to cover its many weaknesses,” Shale continued.

 

“Also true, and believe me I am grateful,” Alistair said with gritted teeth, determined not to lose his temper.

 

“The swamp witch says you and the mini it share a tent with the other Warden because you need him to direct you in how to *ugh* do fleshy, messy, coupling things. I am not sure I believe the swamp witch but its sleeping arrangements are unusual, as far as I know. Just make sure that the three of you do not do any of your disgusting squishy things near me. Too often in Honnleath a couple would do things in my shade. I didn’t like it. If I could I would have squished their tiny heads.”

 

Alistair didn’t know whether to lash out at Shale or burst into laughter at the entire ridiculous conversation. He finally just shook his head, “I’ll spread the word. No squishy creature messy business near you or suffer the consequences. Well, maybe I won’t tell Morrigan.” This was answered with a kind of wheezing which sounded like it might be the golem laughing. Fortunately for Alistair’s sanity they passed the rest of their patrol in silence.

 

When Alistair returned to his tent he allowed the moonlight to filter in and shine on his family. Blake was his brother and friend as well as his comrade-in-arms. He appreciated how protective he was of Jannasilane, that Blake would never let anyone harm his new ‘little sister’ while he drew breath. Then he gazed upon Jannasilane, the woman he adored, and her beauty nearly took his breath away. He didn’t know how he knew that there would never be another love for him, but it was as much fact as his being a man and her being a woman. Carefully he took off his armor and lay next to her, taking hold of her hand and kissing her fingers as a way of saying goodnight. For the first time since before Soldier’s Peak she snuggled into his embrace without any encouragement from him. He smiled and kissed the top of her head and said a prayer to the Maker, thanking Him for the gift of this deceptively tiny woman.


	34. Trouble at the Princess

They were back on the road and Alistair waited until Blake was alone before he asked the question burning in his brain from the moment they set out, “Why is Sten leading?”

 

Blake told him Sten’s story, “So I told him we would look for his sword. Apparently he can’t go home without it. If he tries he’ll be killed on sight as a deserter, a ‘Tal-Vashoth.’”

 

“Ouch, that’s a bit harsh, but there are a lot of things I don’t understand about their Qun,” Alistair mused. Blake agreed. “What if we don’t find it?”

 

“Hopefully we’ll at least get a lead. It’d be a shame if he helps us slay the Archdemon and he’s not able to go home. He must have family, though not family as we know it. If I could never see Highever again . . .” his expression became unbearably sad at the possibility.

 

Alistair put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll find Sten’s sword and we’ll take care of Howe,” he promised.

 

Jannasilane came running up to them, “Sten says it is beyond the next field. Blake, what is wrong?” She hugged him though she didn’t know why he seemed to need the comfort.

 

“I just wanted to feel the luscious curves of a beautiful woman in my arms,” he said, smiling when she hit him in a huff. “Have I ever mentioned how much I enjoy your plump breasts and the roundness of your ass? But now I must go to Sten,” he hurried off, grinning at the temper he left for Alistair to handle.

 

Alistair was both exasperated and amused at Blake’s antics. He tried to suppress his grin when he looked down at the angry and embarrassed Jannasilane. He knew he didn’t succeed when she glared at him and stamped her foot, causing her magnificent bosom to quiver with outrage. Before the storm broke he hastily took both her hands in his, “he was thinking about the possibility of never seeing Highever again. Even if we survive the Blight.”

 

Her temper softened and she leaned against Alistair, “Poor Blake. I wonder if it is easier for me because I know my home is gone now. Between the fire and the darkspawn there will be nothing for me to return to. For him, his home is not gone but out of reach, that must be difficult.”Alistair noticed her brushing her arms where the gouges were mostly healed and frowned. He wasn’t surprised when she spoke again. “Alistair,” Jannasilane looked fixedly at his chest, “we will soon be at the Spoiled Princess. Do you think we might get a room?”

 

He knelt down so he could look her in the eyes. She was blushing and tried to avoid his gaze but he was having none of it. He held her chin and kissed her trembling lips, “Is the Need starting to bother you, my love?” She nodded miserably and flushed even more at the understanding in his voice. “Do you really want to wait? I’m sure Blake would understand if we asked him for some privacy.”

 

She shook her head, “It is not so bad yet. This will be the first time we’ve been together since Denerim and I prefer the extra privacy of the Inn.” She was quiet and then burst out angrily, “I would prefer not to be with you because of some impersonal beast of Need but instead . . .” she shook her head fiercely and then shrugged despondently, “Instead that is not the case. I do not have the luxury to wait until I am sure of my own desires.”

 

Alistair ached for her on so many levels. He hugged her and buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply of her scent, “I love you, Jannasilane Alenahaella. You may not be ready to accept it but I can be patient when the prize is so well worth the wait. Until then my heart and my bedroll are yours whenever you need them, even if it is simply to meet your Need.” He grinned a little and licked her neck, “Until you are ready to say you love me you can abuse my poor body as often as necessary and I will suffer stoically.”

 

“You have developed a surprisingly wicked tongue, Alistair Theirin,” she leaned back so she could look him in the face. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gently bit his ear, “I think I like it.” Then she danced out of his embrace and lightly ran away, leaving him hard but smiling in anticipation.

 

Carefully he stood. Metal armor was more than a little constricting in his current state. He took a deep breath, let it out and then went looking for Blake, _“Need to let him know we want a room at the Princess. I hope this time we don’t need him.”_ He found their leader standing with Sten overlooking the land between them and Lake Calenhad. “Did you find the place where you were attacked?” he asked the silent Qunari.

 

“Yes.”

 

Alistair looked at Blake to see if he would elaborate on the stoic Sten’s reply but Blake just smirked at him. Alistair rolled his eyes, “Do you plan on telling us where it is? I, for one, am willing to help search but not without a bit more information.”

 

“I have informed the Warden. That is sufficient. This task requires concentration and you are too easily distracted with the irrelevant.”

 

_“First Shale and now Sten, the joys of camp life I suppose, no privacy allowed,”_ Alistair grumbled to himself. “I’ll have you know I am a champion multitasker. Since your sword is not crucial to our mission I’d think you want as many eyes working on your behalf as possible. Your sword isn’t _that_ small, is it?” he challenged the large Qunari. “Or you could stay behind and look for it by yourself while we get on with the important business.” He lifted an eyebrow and waited.

 

Sten looked at him. “Humph,” he grunted, “so you do have a spine. Pity you don’t use it more often.”

 

Blake hid his amusement, “Now that that’s settled . . . Alistair I want you to make sure everybody gets packed up as quickly as possible. Sten and I will go on ahead, it’s not far and I don’t sense any darkspawn. If Zevran, Leliana or Package is ready send them and General Lee along to join us. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find the sword before you get there.” He went off whistling, Sten striding at his side.

 

Since camp was mostly ready it didn’t take long before they were all on the move and catching up to their leader. When they reached him Blake was talking to an odd, bandy-legged man who was looking at him with a mixture of fear and defiance. “---you’re surrounded by corpses!”

 

“They’re mine,” the scavenger asserted. “Well, not mine but I have the rights to them and everythin’ around ‘em.”

 

“Did you find a Qunari sword, by any chance?”

 

“What’s it to you?”

 

“It’s _mine,_ ” Sten intervened for the first time in the conversation.

 

“Faryn didn’t say nothing ‘bout no giants,” the scavenger muttered. He burst out, “I know, I got done. That squirrelly bastard didn’t tell me the place was all but picked clean. I found pieces of a leather glove, maybe, and that’s it. He’s at Orzammar by now, ratty looking fellow, tell him I sent you. Ha!” The scavenger turned his back on them and gazed sadly at the area he was working with little hope of finding anything.

 

“I’m sorry, Sten, but we’ll catch up to this Faryn when we get to Orzammar. Fortunately we have to go there anyway,” Blake offered.

 

“It is more information than I had before. Thank you, Warden,” Sten moved to take his usual place in the group.

 

“If he got to Orzammar safely he’s likely going to be there for a long time. I doubt many merchants are traveling the roads and he doesn’t sound like the sort to be able to pay for guards,” Alistair offered his opinion. While he had Blake’s attention he added, “Jannasilane and I want to get a room at the Spoiled Princess.”

 

Blake’s eyes twinkled wickedly, “A romantic evening or . . .?”

 

Alistair sighed, “Hopefully some of both but definitely . . .” He knew Blake would understand what he meant.

 

“Ah,” Blake said, “I’m sure we need to replenish some of our mages’ supplies by now anyway. Let’s go. We should be there by this evening. I have to admit, I always enjoy an excuse not to set up camp.”

 

It started to rain before they reached the inn. The wet Wardens went inside to see about rooms and ask a few questions. Alistair grabbed Jannasilane’s hand and gently tugged her inside with them. The innkeeper was pleased to see them again until Blake started asking questions about Brother Genitivi; when he heard the name ‘Genitivi’ his smile became fixed and nervous. Blake went subtly on alert while maintaining his appearance of casual inquiry. Jannasilane fixed her gaze on the innkeeper and Alistair shifted slightly to be ready for trouble and idly played with her hair. “Sorry, the person you’re looking for isn’t here. I’ve never heard of him,” the innkeeper said loudly. In a bare whisper he added, “They’re watching. Don’t look!” he hissed. “Some knights were here looking for him and that was the last I saw of them. You best be careful. I don’t think it’s wise for you to stay around here.” He leaned back and started polishing a mug, “Sorry I can’t help you, but maybe an ale before you leave?” he said in an approximation of normality.

 

“Thanks, but I guess we better move on. Maybe next time,” Blake said casually. Sotto voce he added, “Don’t worry, this will be over soon.” They strolled out of the Princess back into the rain where they were immediately attacked. These were no common thugs but an experienced squad able enough to defeat well-trained knights travelling in no more than groups of two or three but they were no match for the Wardens and their companions. Blake rummaged through their armor and took their packs. He sent Morrigan, Zevran, Sten and Leliana out on a search for a nearby campsite, if there was one. He, Alistair and the others went back inside.  

 

The innkeeper was stunned when he saw them return, “I, I can’t b-believe it’s over. You did it,” he whispered. “Oh thank the Maker! They threatened to kill my family, my wife and son. They made sure I knew they were watching, always watching. I don’t know who this Brother Genitivi is that everybody’s looking for or why he’s so important and I don’t want to know. You have my eternal gratitude for ending this nightmare. Oh, my name is Fred. The least I can do is offer you rooms on the house and the wife’ll do a bang up breakfast,” he babbled on and on. “Let me show you to your rooms, if you’re hungry we’ve got plenty of bread and butter and cheese we can set out for you. And wine and ale of course . . . here, you’ll probably want this room for you and your lady. It’s the only bed big enough for you.”

 

_“Big enough for all three of us, come to that,”_ thought Alistair. He looked down at Jannasilane and wondered what she was thinking, her expression was oddly pensive. “Janna, my love, why don’t you go ahead and get settled. Take our packs with you. I’ll be back soon with some food and wine,” tenderly he brushed his hand over her hair. She looked at him and he thought she was about to say something but instead she nodded and took their packs with her into the room.

 

Back at the bar they saw the innkeeper’s wife had indeed packed the bar with food. She even had some fruit tarts and some dried meat along with the bread and cheese. _“He obviously remembers what it’s like to feed two Wardens and a small Package,”_ Blake smiled in appreciation and greed. His and Alistair’s stomachs rumbled loudly at almost the same time. They grabbed a little food while waiting for the others to return with their report. Alistair was impatient to get back to their room but contented himself with filling a tray to take back with him and munching on some cheese while having a private word with Blake.

 

“Ah, Grey Wardens,” Zevran began speaking as soon as they hurried through the door, “you will be pleased to know we found no evidence of more of the dastardly fiends.”

 

Leliana elaborated, “We found three camp sites, between them they would know everything that was happening. All signs point to their joining the attack; nothing indicates that even one may have stayed back or slipped away. I would say they had their routine down pretty well. At least one of them would be in the inn at all times while the others watched and waited for a sign. I am glad we have put an end to their misdeeds.”

 

“Good,” Blake answered. “I thought that might be the case. Fred,” he indicated the innkeeper, “has graciously offered us rooms for tonight as well as this buffet and breakfast in the morning. Enjoy it while you can. Shale and General Lee will spend the night on guard in the main room, not that I’m expecting more trouble but I expect Fred’s family will sleep better after all that’s happened.” As soon as he was done speaking most of them went straight for the food. Alistair picked up the tray and left, followed by Leliana who wanted to change into dry clothes before doing anything else.


	35. Managing the Beast

Blake watched Alistair leave out of the corner of his eye. He envied the templar. He might have a difficult road ahead of him but at least he was on a path which might give him his heart’s desire. He couldn’t envision a similar happy ending for himself, not since Zevran’s confession at Redcliffe. He knew that he could find some release with Package, though that was playing against her need, and he didn’t want to do that. He wondered what happened with other Griffonsong, assuming there were any. He resolved the next time they were near a fairly clean brothel he would take advantage of what they had to offer. Somehow that thought didn’t make him feel any better.

 

Everybody ate well. Leliana was talking to Sten hoping to learn more about him and the Qunari. Zevran was being equally irritating to the two mages, to Blake’s amusement. One advantage to a Warden’s appetite: eating was such serious business nobody was willing to interrupt him. Soon everybody else went to their rooms and he was able to spread the items belonging to the attackers on one of the tables. He was making notes in his journal and slowly drinking some ale when he heard a rustling sound. He looked up to see Morrigan approaching. Silently he waited while she sat down.

 

In their room Alistair pushed open the door and saw Jannasilane standing on the bed and leaning against the wall, still dressed in her robe. He cocked an eyebrow and offered her the tray. She picked up a fruit tart and bit into it. Alistair was transfixed as he watched the juice dribble down her chin until she wiped it with one finger, a finger which she slowly put into her mouth and sucked clean. “Put the tray on the table, Alistair,” she softly commanded in a husky voice. He shut the door with the back of his foot and did as she bade. Quickly he began removing his armor until she stopped him, “No, my Ali, I want to watch you disrobe slowly so I can enjoy the movement of all your muscles.”

 

For a moment Alistair froze with sheer lust. He stared at her and surely she should have been burned by the heat in his gaze before he, very slowly, began removing his armor. He only looked away from her to hang his armor and clothing on the hooks provided. Her breathing quickened as more of him came into view. She was hypnotized by the movement of muscle on muscle. When he was fully naked she sucked in her breath, _“Maker, he is so beautiful,”_ and couldn’t conceal her own lust from him, which caused him to swell even more. “This is a beautiful bed, come and lie down, Alistair.” He could no more resist her siren’s call than he could stop the sun from rising in the morning. He lay down, looking up at her and knowing instinctively he shouldn’t reach for her just then. “Place your hands on the headboard behind you and do not let go until I say,” she directed. He hesitated for a heartbeat and she questioned him, “Do you not trust me, my Alistair?”

 

“With everything I am and everything that I will ever become,” he answered promptly. He grasped the headboard and waited with curiosity and anticipation.

 

Tenderness filled her gaze for a moment and then Jannasilane moved until she was standing over and straddling his feet. “I always feel your gaze watching me, Alistair.” She smoothed her hands over her breasts and down her sides, his eyes tracking every movement. She loosened her robe and lowered it until her breasts were free. She held them in her hands, “Do you like what you see, my Ali,” never doubting the answer. He positively groaned when she slowly shrugged it off and she was standing naked before him. She knelt and he swore he could feel her heat scant inches from his skin. She caressed his calves and kneaded the muscles before slowly moving to his thighs, “You have such strong legs, muscles upon muscles, no wonder you wear that heavy armor with such ease.” She trailed her fingers into a brief caress of his manhood, “so mighty,” she breathed.

 

Alistair nearly whimpered when she moved. She circled his navel with her fingers and his skin quivered. “Sometimes when your chin rasps across my belly or you lick me just so I feel a hot spear of desire down to my curling toes,” and promptly demonstrated, causing him to jump and moan. She lightly rapped his manhood in rebuke, “be still.” Her hands massaged his abdomen and up his chest, tangling in his chest hair. “Have I ever told you how much I enjoy playing with your hair on your chest? So thick and curly and crinkly.”

 

_“If this is torture I hope it goes on for a long time,”_ Alistair thought when she bent down and licked one of nipples and tweaked the other with her fingers. She nuzzled his chest hair and began nibbling along his shoulder and neck. _“Or maybe not,”_ when she teased his earlobe gently between her teeth and whispered soft kisses across his cheeks to his mouth. He opened for her dancing tongue and stopped breathing when she moved above him. He closed his eyes and savored the sensations.

 

When she moved away he opened his eyes to see her breasts swaying temptingly above him. He licked suddenly dry lips. “Alistair, I love the feel of your tongue and lips on my breasts,” she moved so one nipple was touching his mouth. She moaned with pleasure when he engulfed it, his teeth and tongue performing intricate movements which nearly had her writhing with need. “Must, must play fair,” she was breathing harshly as she moved so he could pay attention to the other one. The stubble on his chin rasping against her skin was nearly too much but she was determined to finish as she planned and with great reluctance she moved away and sat above his groin, his manhood at her back.

 

He nearly howled in frustration and she was quivering all over. “Alistair, I want you to bend your knees so I can brace myself against your strong thighs.” He gulped and complied. His eyes glazed as she knelt, braced against his legs and less than in inch between his tip and her entrance. Jannasilane watched his eyes track the movements of her hands as she bunched her breasts together and lightly stroked them with her fingers. They gleamed when she slowly caressed her way down her torso to the curls between her legs. He trembled when one of her fingers disappeared in and out of sight, rhythmically brushing against his tip.

 

“Janna,” he growled, his voice strained and husky with need, “I can’t . . . hold . . . on much longer.”

 

Her eyes glittered with sharp amber lights and she braced herself on his chest with one hand. With her damp finger she rubbed his lips, “Soon, my Ali, soon.” For answer he caught her finger in his mouth, lightly biting and licking, tasting her essence. It was her turn to whimper. She sat back against his legs and breathed deeply. She never let her gaze leave his eyes as she slowly slid down until she was barely in contact with his straining member. “Now, Ali, now you can let go.”

 

The words were barely past her lips when his hands were on her hips and then with one thrust he was buried in damp heat. “Maker, yes!” he yelled, for once not caring if he was heard throughout Thedas. He wouldn’t let her move; she was going to have to ride it out. She grabbed onto his forearms and braced herself until they were both falling into the abyss. She collapsed against his chest, mewing softly. He used his remaining strength to move his hands from her hips to her rear and stroked gently. They could feel each other’s heart pounding with exertion until gradually their heartbeats calmed to a more normal rhythm. “Maker, Janna,” Alistair began when he realized he could breathe again, “that was . . . wow. Why? You don’t normally, I’m not complaining mind you, but why?”

 

It seemed a long time before she answered. “I am sorry, Alistair,” her first words surprised him. “I should not have used you like that.” Jannasilane sighed and sat up beside him, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I have been thinking; I may not be able to control the Need but perhaps I can manage it. A little. I do not ever want to be like I was in Denerim if I can help it. I, this may sound odd, but I thought I might take advantage of it to, um, well, learn.” She turned away from him then, “And maybe I still wanted to punish you, make you feel a little of how I feel about the, the lack of control.”

 

Alistair blinked several times as he struggled to process everything she was saying, _“O-kay, heavy waters here, Alistair you better be very careful in how you reply.”_ He sat up and noticed the table of food and was suddenly ravenous. He plucked his love into his arms and stood, swaying only slightly, and walked the three steps before sitting down again in a chair with Jannasilane still in his arms. He settled her in his lap before breaking off some bread and handing it to her, “Eat. We both need some food.” Startled she looked up at him only to find her gaze skittering away. She concentrated on eating, nibbling really, the bread he gave her. For a moment Alistair gave his full attention to making a sandwich with the dried meat and cheese. He sliced some more to have it ready before taking a bite.

 

He chewed, thinking how to answer her. He kept one arm around her so she couldn’t squirm away, though she showed no signs of doing so. He wondered if it was perverse of him to enjoy sitting at the table like this, both of them naked and decided he didn’t really care. He took a sip of wine before speaking, “First, I understand how angry you feel about not having control over something so basic.” If she had looked up just then she would have seen an unaccustomed bleakness fall over his expression before he looked off into a distance only he could see. “Most of my life I’ve been angry because other people were making decisions about my life, everything about my life, with no regard to what _I_ wanted or even _needed_. Duncan knew I wanted to leave the Chantry but he had to invoke the Right of Conscription to do it. I believe the Grey Wardens are a worthy order, even though I’ve had to adjust some of my thinking, and their goal is certainly a worthy one. But still _I_ did not get to choose.”

 

Jannasilane stirred in his arms and looked up at him, “Oh, Ali, I am so sorry. I was not even thinking of that.”

 

Alistair kissed away the tears trembling on her lashes. “Don’t fret, my love, I think it’s easier for me because I know who to blame. I can focus my anger on Isolde, Eamon, Maric, even the Grand Cleric. You don’t have a target for your anger, not a living one anyway.” She relaxed against him and reached for more bread and meat. He breathed out a mental sigh of relief, “You know, I’m not sure I feel punished enough. You’ll have to be more thorough next time.” He grinned and kissed the top of her head when she elbowed him but made no attempt to move out of his embrace. They ate companionably for several minutes, concentrating on slaking their hunger. “So, what did you mean by managing your need and learning?”

 

“I do not know much about s-sex,” she replied, trying not to stutter. “The, the Need means that I am almost forced to achieve a, a, I guess you could say a level of sat-satisfaction whether the,” she huffed in frustration, “whether the particular, umm, activity is one I would choose for myself.” Her lips curled slightly as she recalled an incident with Riordan near Denerim when they were hiding from some troops. She brooded for a moment and Alistair decided he really did _not_ want or need to know what Riordan did which caused that reaction. “On the other hand,” she finally continued, “this does mean I can more easily try things which I would not ordinarily think to do. I do not think I would have thought of you, me and Blake being together without the Need driving me to insanity. I was surprised that I enjoyed it as much as I did, I only expected to relieve the Need but it was more.”

 

“So you might find physical satisfaction because of the Need without feeling any personal pleasure; you can tell the difference between what satisfies the Need alone and what satisfies you as well?” Alistair wanted to make sure he understood what she was saying. She nodded, pleased he understood the difference. “So if I, or your partner wants to do something you never thought about you can take it as a, I dunno, a learning experience? And the worst that would happen is the Need is taken care of and you know you don’t really want to do that, whatever that is?”

 

“Well, I suppose it would be worse if I did not choose to be with that person and they had no concern or respect for me and did not care how they left me.” Alistair couldn’t argue with that. “If I, Jannasilane Alenahaella, do not care for what you do I will tell you. As part of managing, well, you do not need to wait until I feel Need clawing at me, Alistair. I know you have been holding back, did you think I did not notice your desire?”

 

“I never, ever wanted to take advantage of you or your condition, my love. I wanted to show you how much I respect you and how much you mean to me; and if that meant waiting until you felt Need then I was happy to wait. Just sleeping with you in my arms gives me a sense of happiness.”

 

Jannasilane was touched, “I believe you, my Ali. I think I prefer to be able to choose when to be with you rather than be dictated to by Need. I also feel that the Need is less likely to take over if I do not wait for it.” She grew positively coquettish and waggled her finger at him, “This does not mean I will say yes to your advances just because you ask. I could choose to say ‘no,’” she playfully warned him.

 

“Yes, but not tonight. Not when you’re sitting naked in my arms and we’re mere steps away from a giant bed. I have the sudden urge to taste some Janna Wine,” he growled and picked her up as well as grabbing the bottle of wine. She giggled until he poured some of the wine on her breast and then licked it off. She gasped and willingly relinquished control.

 

Downstairs Morrigan didn’t speak right away but when he started to go back to his journal she spoke up, “Warden, thank you.” She watched Blake carefully. She did not like being in this position and was ready to leave if he so much as blinked in a way she didn’t like. “In your position you could have easily taken the single room and I would have been forced to either share with the Chantry duo or make my own arrangements; both would have been less comfortable.”

 

“You’re welcome, though I feel obliged to point out that Alistair was worried you might turn Leliana into a toad if you were forced to spend the night in the same room.” He was intrigued to see her mouth twitch slightly in what could only be amusement. “Do you mind if I ask you something? What was it like growing up in the Wilds? Weren’t you ever lonely?”

 

“Why do you ask such questions? I don’t bother you with such things,” she replied crossly.

 

“It’s one of my favorite ways to annoy you,” he retorted.

 

“So I’ve noticed.” Once again Blake saw her mouth twitch. “Very well, if you must know I shall answer. I am not sure if I was lonely or not since ‘twas only Flemeth and I in that hut, and she kept me quite busy teaching me her magic. Even my, I suppose you would call it play time, I was often running through the Wilds with the wolves or flying as an owl. The animals themselves were my companions, though not my friends. Other people were far more alien to me and I did not miss what I did not understand. Once I saw a caravan stopped at the edge of the Wilds. A young girl with gold curls was looking at herself in a mirror and I was intrigued. It was gold and covered in gemstones. When I saw an opportunity I grabbed it and ran away hugging it to my chest, my own personal treasure.”

 

“Was Flemeth upset?”

 

“Upset? No, she was furious. She grabbed the mirror out of my hands and dashed it to the ground, breaking it into hundreds of tiny pieces. I had risked bringing the templars or others to our door with my foolishness and she was determined to teach me a lesson. A pretty bauble or temporary pleasure is unimportant. Survival is important and must be taken into consideration with every action.” She shook her head slightly, “You may not agree, Warden, but I would not be the mage I am without those lessons.”

 

“You’ve certainly made a difference. I’m glad you decided to stay with us.” Morrigan started to rise but Blake stopped her, “Morrigan, wait. I have something for you. I admit I forgot about it for a while and I also didn’t want Wynne to see it in case she recognized it.” He rummaged in the bottom of his pack and unwrapped the book he removed. “This is what you were hoping for, isn’t it?”

 

Morrigan’s eyes lit up, reminding Blake that she was an extraordinarily beautiful woman and perhaps not quite as cold as he and Alistair thought. “Mother’s grimoire, you found it,” she stroked the cover in reverence before looking up at Blake and smiling brilliantly. “Truly I did not expect you to be successful; it was such a small possibility. There is much Flemeth refused to teach me or tell me. I have much to learn, thank you Warden.”

 

Just then they heard Alistair shout to the Maker. They looked up before Morrigan sniffed disdainfully. “Worshiping at the altar of the toy, I see,” she muttered.

 

Blake laughed, “Worshipping at the . . . I like that. I’ll have to use it on him, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Feel free; I have no inclination to spend much time in his company. Maybe I should be grateful to your toy for keeping him so occupied and away from me,” she snorted. “Is that why you are down here?”

 

Blake shrugged, “sometimes writing things down helps me organize my thoughts or see things differently, remind me of something I forgot. I don’t know what’s going on with the whole Sacred Ashes business and would prefer to know a little bit more before we confront Weylon in Denerim. I want to question him before he knows something is wrong with his fellows. I really hate it when people send us into a trap,” he said grimly.

 

The witch stifled a laugh and idly examined the bits and pieces on the table. She picked up a belt buckle and looked at it more closely, “This looks familiar. It doesn’t make sense, though. What would a dragon cult have to do with Andraste’s Ashes, if they even exist? We should be careful Warden. If we are indeed dealing with cultists then their fanaticism will drive them beyond any concern for personal safety.” Finally she stood, “My thanks again, Warden, for both the room and the grimoire. Both are appreciated.” She glided silently away.

 

Blake shook his head at the strange turn the night had taken. “Dragon cultists? I hope not,” he muttered. He watched Morrigan leave. He still wasn’t ready to trust her or call her friend, but she wasn’t as cold or unlikeable as she tried to be. He went back to studying the items he retrieved from their attackers in the light of Morrigan’s hypothesis and making more notes. He kept at it until he felt he had done as much as he could. Finally he stretched and gathered up his things to go to their room.

 

He was tired. He carefully turned the knob and was relieved to find it unlocked. He went inside and saw Alistair had left a lamp lit for him. _“Honey, I’m home,”_ he thought wryly and carefully hung up his armor before slipping into bed. _“Sharing the bed is certainly different from sharing our tent,”_ he struggled to get comfortable without disturbing the other two. His friend was on his back with arms around the pretty Package sprawled across his chest. She turned her head and looked at him sleepily. She smiled at him and reached for his hand before closing her eyes again. He kissed her fingers which caused her to snort softly in amusement and soon he, too, was asleep.


	36. Plans for the Battle Song

When Jannasilane woke she found herself firmly sandwiched between the two men. For a moment she wished they weren’t quite so big or she wasn’t so small, it was difficult to move from the bottom of the dip in the mattress without waking them up. Blake’s arm was across her waist and Alistair’s hand was cupping her breast. She snickered softly to herself, _“That and my rear are the favorite resting places for my Ali’s hands. I am surprised they are not permanently curved.”_ She looked into the face of her sleeping warrior and smiled. If Alistair had opened his eyes just then he would have seen the love she was still too afraid to express. Very carefully she moved Blake’s arm and he simply rolled away from her. She tried moving Alistair’s hand so she could ease out of bed but his response was to hold onto her more firmly. She sighed and tried again to no effect. Finally she resorted to a light elbow to his chest before he loosened his hold. Of course he woke up and looked at her reproachfully but she motioned to the sleeping Blake and indicated she didn’t want to wake him.

 

Carefully they eased out of bed and got dressed. Alistair felt strange not putting his armor on first thing but it felt kind of nice, too. He wasn’t leaving without his sword, however. As they made their way down the hall he noticed that Jannasilane kept falling behind. Finally he turned around and confronted her, “Why are you walking _behind_ me instead of _with_ me?” She smirked and didn’t answer. “Janna . . .,” he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

 

Jannasilane fluttered her eyelashes at him, “Because, my Ali, I enjoy watching you walk and do not often get a chance to do so without your armor.” Alistair flushed in pleased embarrassment. She continued, “I like watching the play of your muscles. I would like it even more if you no clothes on at all but that would not be appropriate in a public hallway.” He gawped at her, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish before he turned around and continued on his way. He looked at her over his shoulder and saw she was staring at him and blushed like a schoolgirl. Jannasilane thought she saw him grinning but wasn’t sure, nor was she sure what he was mumbling; only that it was something about women.

 

“I find it a little easier to understand why you are with him,” Morrigan startled Jannasilane. “He still wouldn’t be my first choice but you are correct; it is a pleasure to watch such a well-muscled young man.” She’d just opened the door to her room and heard and saw the entire exchange.

 

It was Jannasilane’s turn to blush. Then she couldn’t help snickering and fell into step with the witch. If Alistair turned around he would have seen two women watching him. “Morrigan,” she said after a brief and rarely companionable silence, “I would like to speak to you and Wynne about something after breakfast. I have an idea but do not know if it can be done, and I would need one or both of you to accomplish it, I think.”

 

Morrigan’s curiosity was aroused. She didn’t care for them, the Circle mage and the Warden’s toy, and wondered what the toy had in mind. “Very well, after breakfast we shall speak further and you can explain what it is you wish of me,” she said and glided off.

 

“Good morning, Shale. Good morning, General Lee,” Jannasilane practically sang the words she was in such a good mood. She smiled to see Alistair placing cups of coffee on the table for the two of them. She came up behind him and gave his butt a quick grab and fondle before sitting down, something she’d never done before.

 

Alistair started and just barely prevented himself from squeaking, which would have caused him to blush in absolute mortification with Morrigan and Shale in the room. Quickly he sat down before she could do anything else. He leaned to whisper in her ear, “You are a wicked, wicked woman, do you know that?” He trailed his fingers on her thigh before giving her knee a squeeze under the table. He paused and thought a moment, “Does this have anything to do with, you know . . . ?”

 

She tilted her head thoughtfully, “No, I don’t think so. I just had this urge,” her face became pink. “I’m sorry if it was inappropriate.”

 

“No, no, don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “I like your temper and feistiness. Does this mean you are going to manhandle me at every opportunity?” Alistair asked hopefully. Jannasilane giggled and shrugged her shoulders. Alistair lifted an eyebrow, “I consider myself forewarned,” he said wryly. He spoiled the effect by leaning down and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

 

“Ugh,” Morrigan grimaced. “I think I’m losing my appetite.”

 

“I think it’s sweet,” chimed the newly arrived Leliana.

 

Fred the innkeeper came in with his wife, both of them carrying large platters of food. He hadn’t exaggerated when he said his wife would make them a great breakfast. There was bacon, sausage, eggs, toasted bread as well as untoasted, fruit tarts, cheese tarts, hot sweet porridge and more fruit. Butter, soft cheese, jams and jellies came out next. He remembered the Wardens’ appetite from the last time they were at Lake Calenhad, as well as that of some of their companions. Nobody waited for the others to arrive before filling their plates though it wasn’t long before the entire party was gathered around the bounty. For several minutes the only sounds were people happily selecting their food and savoring their choices. Fred and his wife were busy refilling coffee, whisking away empty platters and bringing out more. Zevran sat next to the pocket goddess and beside him sat Blake. Zevran once again marveled at how much the small woman could eat. He supposed her appetite was something she inherited from her Grey Warden father.

 

”Blake,” she addressed their leader while buttering yet another piece of bread only this time she spread some cheese on it before topping it off with plum preserves. “Do we have enough money for me to get another robe, or even two? The ones Alistair found are quite fine but even enchantments don’t change the fact they are cloth. I thought I could go with Wynne and see if they have anything available at the Circle.” She took a bite of her loaded bread and closed her eyes, “Mmm, this is good. Do you wish a bite Ali?” She held it up so he could sample. Alistair decided to tease her and took a deliberately large bite. Jannasilane looked at the little bit remaining with regret, “I suppose you left more than General Lee would have. Are you part mabari, by any chance?”

 

Blake laughed, “He did say he was raised by dogs the first time I asked him about himself,” Blake reminded them. Those that heard joined in the laughter at the templar’s expense. He watched Zevran prepare another slice of bread for Package and thought the elf certainly was trying to repair the damage he caused. She obviously thought so since she smiled at the Antivan. Blake didn’t miss the fact that Zevran relaxed ever so slightly when she did. Without giving away any of what he was thinking he answered, “I’ll give you some coin and you can try. We can’t have you fighting darkspawn in complete rags, although . . .” he waggled his eyebrows in a mock leer.

 

“I shall speak with Wynne, then,” Jannasilane said in an attempt to ignore him though her blush indicated she wasn’t entirely successful. She added a few more things to her plate before moving so she could speak to Wynne and Morrigan. Alistair watched her leave, the sway of her hips mesmerizing him. She turned around once and flushed. She cleared her throat, “Warden, you must practice your meditation exercises with Alistair again. It is important. You can do so while we are at the Circle.” She continued on her way, not realizing how imperious she sounded just then.

 

“The little pocket goddess can sound quite the bossy queen, can she not?” Zevran was amused. Now that she was gone he could enjoy one of his favorite pastimes, baiting the templar. “Are you a religious man, Alistair?” he took a delicate bite of sausage. Antiva was far superior in most ways when it came to food, but he admitted to himself that Ferelden had a knack with the deceptively simple sausage.

 

Alistair frowned a little, “Not particularly. I don’t suppose you are, not in your line of work.”

 

Before Zevran could answer Blake intervened. It was the perfect opportunity, “Now, don’t underestimate your devotion, Alistair. You were certainly worshipping at the altar of Package last night.” He enjoyed watching his friend choke and flounder.

 

Zevran’s eyes gleamed, “Maker, yes. I could not help but notice your, shall we say enthusiastic, belief last night. Even though you were a templar I did not take you for such a _firm_ believer before now.” Alistair glared at the two of them and simply began eating again. He’d already learned when either of them was in a mood like this he was no match for their repartee. Later . . .

 

From across the room the two mages and Jannasilane eyed the exchange between the three men. Wynne shook her head and Morrigan smiled catlike at the templar’s discomfort. “So, what is it you wish to discuss with us?” she questioned the toy.

 

“Do you remember at Redcliffe when we were fighting T-teagan?” she surprised them. “When I . . . shrieked? Although I think I prefer battle song to shriek.” Both mages nodded, they each had experienced a ringing in the ears for some time afterwards. “It has since occurred to me that maybe we could find a way to keep it from affecting, or at least minimizing the effect on **us**. Do either of you know of any enchantments which could, not block all sounds but perhaps muffle or filter out certain sounds?”

 

“That would certainly be helpful, to incapacitate the darkspawn without suffering ourselves. An amulet? No, it would be too far to focus on our ears and be selective in which sounds to block. At least I think this would be the case,” Morrigan mulled over the problem.

 

“I know of some spells which involve sound. I understand you wish to come to the Circle with me, we shall consult Irving. His knowledge is vast and he might be able to help tweak a spell or two. The problem is still delivery, isn’t it? Morrigan and I can’t afford to use mana in a battle to continually cast and recast a spell,” Wynne frowned.

 

Leliana had quietly come up to join them, “What about earrings?” All of them looked at Sten then farther up the room to where the Wardens and Zevran were talking, bickering or whatever.

 

“Would they even consent to wear earrings? Men can be very stubborn about such things, in my experience,” replied Wynne.

 

“Thick, plain hoops should be masculine enough. Zevran already wears an earring sometimes and it is a bit more decorative. He won’t be a problem,” asserted the redhead.

 

“Really?” asked Jannasilane, “I was thinking if we promised they would be very pretty earrings they might be more agreeable. Lots of sparkle,” she added.

 

The other three women looked at her is if she were out of her mind until they saw the mischievous glint in her eye. Then they eyed the men, picturing them in sparkly, dangly earring and started laughing. Leliana added to their hilarity, “Perhaps we could add some charms like kittens or flowers.”

 

“They’re laughing at us, why are they laughing at us?” Alistair wanted to know.

 

Blake rolled his eyes, “They’re laughing at you, Alistair, what else is new?”

 

“No, no, I think for once the big handsome templar is correct. Something is amusing them and it is not just Alistair. They glance from one man to the other and start giggling again. Even the exotic witch of the wilds giggles, a most extraordinary event to be sure. By the way, Warden, I shall accompany Wynne of the magical bosom and the pocket goddess of the most magnificent curves to the Circle while you and Alistair practice your meditations. I do not think you wish her to be upset with you.” Zevran sauntered off. The Wardens would be fine but he was not going to allow the pocket goddess to go to the Circle without protection. He doubted there would be any trouble but he wasn’t taking any chances.

 

On their way to the docks they encountered Shale who had left the main room of the tavern at the first opportunity, “The mini it, the elderly mage and the painted elf are leaving?”

 

“Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke,” Zevran quipped.

 

“We’re just going to the Circle for some supplies, Shale,” Wynne said resignedly. The golem was quite perverse in its address.

 

“When I give my battle song, does it bother you? I am not sure if you have ears or if you hear in the same manner as we do,” Jannasilane wanted to know.

 

“The mini it refers to the noise it makes which stuns the darkspawn and other fleshy creatures? The sound is mildly annoying but does not even rise to the level of discomfort so no, it does not bother me. Why does the mini it ask such a ridiculous question?” Shale grumbled.

 

“This is good, I will pester you no longer,” Jannasilane walked away, a bit miffed.

 

In the boat, once again in the capable hands of Kester, Jannasilane and Wynne examined Zevran who pretended to take no notice. Finally Jannasilane asked the question, “Zevran, where is your earring?”

 

Zevran raised an eyebrow, “I am in a boat with two lovely women and all you want is the whereabouts of an earring? I am crushed, truly, but I shall answer. It is too decorative and too large to wear when I am on business. Not only would it be a target for bandits it is too easily grabbed. I do not wish to have it ripped out of my ear.” Jannasilane and Wynne looked at each other and nodded. That made sense and they would definitely keep it in mind.

 

Back at the Inn the two Wardens were finally finishing breakfast. It was so rare for them to be able to sit and eat as much as they wanted that they were not going to waste the opportunity. When even Alistair couldn’t take another mouthful he stood, “Well, since it’s nice outside let’s find a quiet spot by the water. I wouldn’t want to swim in Lake Calenhad but I can certainly enjoy the view.”

 

“Ha,” Blake countered, “You just want to keep an eye out for Package’s return.” Alistair shrugged and smiled agreeably. He couldn’t argue that he wasn’t going to be looking for her. Alistair sat down gracefully and began stretching and settling into position. Blake started to sit facing him, which placed him a bit nearer the water, and shook his head slightly, “It’s always surprising to me how flexible you are when not wearing fifty pounds of armor.”

 

Alistair smiled and shrugged, “Probably one of the reasons I like meditation. I can really stretch myself.” He noticed that Blake was just about in the right state of not quite balanced. “Have you ever considered being part of a harem?” He watched as the dark rogue stopped moving to stare at him in shock before slowly toppling into the water. Alistair started to chuckle, then guffaw. He braced himself before offering a hand to his dripping friend.

 

Once he shook off most of the water Blake began shaking his head, “Well played, Alistair, well played.” He sat down so he could take best advantage of the sun’s rays. “What in Andraste’s name made you think of a harem?”

 

The big blond stopped laughing and sighed, “Jannasilane and I were talking. I don’t know how long it might be before I’m mature enough as a Warden to meet her Need at its strongest. Although regular contact seems to be helping,” Alistair mulled that over. “Anyway, we don’t know what will happen later after the Blight. What if there are times when my duties don’t allow me to take her with me? It will be easier for me, I think for both of us, if somebody we both trust can be . . . well there’s no delicate way to put it really, if somebody can be available for her. Maybe two or three people, who can, erm, fill in from time to time.” Alistair’s face grew pink then red while he spoke. His eyes moved from Blake to the Circle Tower as if seeking the small woman who had control of his heart.

 

Blake watched him closely, “You must love her very much to even consider the prospect. I know this isn’t easy on you, or her. I suspect in her heart she’s more traditional than circumstances will allow. Very well, if later this is what you both want I agree. I can even help you suss out more likely candidates if you want. You could even consider other women,” he snorted at the surprised look on the other man. “If being a Warden is the biggest qualification then a woman is definitely a possibility. You and Package could always try it out at the Pearl sometime; see if you and she like it. There are worse fates.” Surprise gave way to reluctant speculation on Alistair’s face.

 

When Alistair felt his manhood rather eagerly stirring at the idea he decided it was time to think of something else or he might really embarrass himself. He took a deep breath, “We better practice meditating again. We’ve both gotten a bit lax and I don’t want her mad at me. It must be something Riordan told her,” he muttered thoughtfully. “Practice building your wall against the darkspawn, one stone at a time. Each stone you put up blocks their eerie scritchy sounds from invading your head.” They practiced for the rest of the morning. Shale and Sten watched from a distance and discussed the weakness of puny humans.

 

In the boat back to shore it was hard for Jannasilane to sit still. Their trip to the Circle had been more successful than they could have hoped. Not only was she wearing one of two new sets of armor, they had several earrings Wynne and Irving enchanted. Wynne said the spell could easily be tweaked further if it wasn’t quite right. Owain, one of the tranquil mages, suggested infusing a drop of lyrium into the earrings enabling them to hold the enchantment for several days. Morrigan and Wynne would easily be able to renew the charms when it was convenient. Jannasilane was the first to see the two Wardens outside and jumped out of the boat even before Kester brought it to a full stop.

 

Zevran laughed to see her excitement. He enjoyed her new armor and suspected Alistair would be tongue-tied. Again. Certainly that other templar, the one from the cage, Cullen, nearly swallowed his tongue and followed her like a puppy dog when he saw her. The First Enchanter had been dubious about its usefulness because there wasn’t much to it. But it was dragon leather and it was enchanted. The midnight blue she was wearing contrasted nicely with her golden skin and the warm tones of her hair. Without appearing to hurry he was soon by her side and able to witness Alistair’s first look at her new armor.

 

“Alistair, Ali, I have a present for you and Blake,” her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I found much at the Circle and the First Enchanter said I could keep two sets of dragon leather armor stored in the basement. According to his records they were left to be enchanted but the owner never returned. As this was over thirty years ago he saw no problem with letting me have them today. Isn’t it wonderful? And the Circle doesn’t feel nearly as strange as it did, which is good because I admit I was worried. I think she must have been more slender but fortunately the armor was designed to be somewhat adjustable and only needed minor modifications,” she chattered, unaware of the effect she was having on Alistair.

 

Alistair and Blake had been meditating and stretching for hours. Alistair knew when they arrived and was already smiling in anticipation before she reached them. She began talking and he opened his eyes. All coherent thought fled when he saw her. Saw her breasts. Somehow they seemed fuller and more forward, more _there_. And when he could move his gaze from them he saw skin showing where the sides were laced together. He gulped, “Y-your breasts . . . skin . . . naked under . . .” His voice trailed off before he could say anything further.

 

Jannasilane rolled her eyes, “Of course they are my breasts, Alistair. One does not change bosoms like Leliana would change shoes if she had the chance.” She looked at him in perplexed frustration, “And I am always naked under my clothes. So are you. What is wrong with you? You don’t like my armor?” Now she was starting to get annoyed.

 

Blake was enjoying the farce. He wondered if Duncan would have appreciated how entertaining the Alistair/Package traveling show was. Probably not, he thought. Since relations were still a bit uncertain between them he came to Alistair’s rescue, “I rather think he likes it more than he’s capable of communicating at the moment, Package. Your new armor does seem to change the shape of your, ahem, breasts in a very attractive manner.” He certainly wasn’t going to say they were brought together and pushed up and forward so they looked ready to overflow, inviting a man’s hands to touch.

 

She frowned at him, wondering if he was teasing her, then looked down at her breasts thoughtfully, “The harness,” she indicated the thick leather which covered her upper back and was connected in front by a buckle between and just underneath her breasts, “does seem to provide more support and keep them from bouncing so much when I am fighting. I did some running, jumping and rolling to test the fit and I found it surprisingly comfortable. More comfortable than either of my robes when I am fighting.” Her face was pink by the time she was done talking.

 

“The pocket goddess is correct in the way the harness corralled her, so to speak,” Zevran smirked at the glare Alistair gave him. “I watched her very closely, for her own protection of course, and can honestly say there was less movement per jump, as it were.”

 

“Yes, well, I was surprised that you were able to find something so attractive as well as useful at the Circle,” Alistair decided it was time to at least try and speak intelligently. It was hard when he found her so enticing. The fringe, if that was the correct term, below the heavy belt accented every slight movement of her hips and the leather tunic . . . He didn’t know why it didn’t fully cover her but he just wanted to lick and nibble all that glorious skin showing between the lacing holding it together on each side. “I really like that color on you, my love, your skin and hair seem to glow against it.” He looked more closely at the shoulders of the harness, “Are the shoulders padded underneath?”

 

Relieved not to be talking about her breasts anymore Jannasilane nodded eagerly. “Since it was a rogue who requested the enchantments I believe they are padded in order to carry a bow and quiver of arrows more comfortably. I shall discuss this with Leliana. Do you not want to know what I have for you?”

 

“In all the excitement over your new armor I forgot,” Alistair admitted sheepishly. “Seeing you happy is enough.” Jannasilane blushed with pleasure. “What did you get for us?” The men watched with interest as she pulled a pouch out of her belt and started pouring earrings into her hand. There was a variety of studs and small hoops. “Earrings? I never would have guessed that,” he said. He’d never admitted to her or anyone that he admired the hoop Duncan wore or that he wanted one for himself but was leery of having just anybody poke a hole in his ear. It might involve needles or other pointy objects near his head.

 

“They are enchanted, Ali, to protect against my battle song. We cannot be surrounded by darkspawn and me unable to use a weapon because that would leave you all vulnerable. This would not be wise,” as she explained Alistair was looking at the earrings on display. “You need one for each ear. Go ahead and pick, Alistair.”

 

“So this is what you lovely ladies were discussing this morning,” Zevran spoke before Alistair could say something stupid. “I remember very well the effect of your, er, battle song you say? on my ears. I think I can safely speak for all of us when I say thank you for thinking of this. It is most kind.”

 

“Zevran is right, Package,” Blake gave the assassin a look of warm approval which caused hope and confusion in the elf. “These earrings, the idea is very thoughtful. But why were you giggling?”

 

Now all three men were staring at her, waiting for an answer. She shifted her feet and her cheeks grew warm, “Um, we were discussing how to make it work and then . . . I suppose we got a little silly.” No matter how they pressed they couldn’t drag any more from her.

 

“If they work as well as you hope then the Circle could make some for the Grey Wardens to protect against shriek attacks,” Alistair mused as he picked up two small hoops of amber, gold and malachite. “These’ll do.”

 

Jannasilane looked at him in surprise, “I would have thought you would pick something more simple.”

 

“These remind me of your eyes,” he mumbled and shrugged. She smiled shyly and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before offering the earrings to Blake and Zevran for their perusal. As soon as they made their choices Alistair was on his feet and grabbing her hand, “Come on, let’s get the rest of these delivered and then you can show me how to put them on.” He didn’t give her a chance to agree before they were walking.

 

Blake watched them leave, one eyebrow raised at Alistair’s rather precipitous departure, “Bet you a sovereign he’s about to show her what he thinks of her armor.”

 

“Warden, unless you’re giving a thousand to one odds I’m not about to take that bet. Pocket Goddess does look quite fetching in her new leathers. I believe it is from Nevarra originally, which explains why it is of dragon though how it ended up in the Fereldan Circle is probably a good story we will never hear.” He looked at Blake in amusement, “I did not think it wise to tell Alistair that the other young templar, Cullen, also finds her quite attractive. He came to her as soon as he saw us and began apologizing all over again. Indeed, I think he could give groveling lessons. When the First Enchanter gave her this armor she tried it on immediately and began running and leaping throughout the hall. He froze in place and became absolutely speechless. Surely his blush rivaled any of Alistair’s when she said goodbye and smiled at him.”

 

“I think it’s not just her curves and rather exotic appearance but her obvious warmth. It’s not easy to imagine her as cool and aloof,” Blake watched the Antivan out of the corner of his eye as Zevran nodded in agreement. “Are you becoming smitten, Zev?” He didn’t know why he asked since he was struggling with his own desires for the suave Antivan.

 

_“Why does he ask such a question? Does he seek to toy with me? No,”_ he answered himself. _“Whatever his reasons he does not appear happy to have asked the question. Perhaps I should try honesty; it does seem to be the best approach with this one.”_ He let his eyes travel over the other man, allowing some of his desire to show before turning to the figures now in the distance. “No, Warden, even if I generally prefer a woman’s roundness and soft skin the answer is no. I have had much time to think since before Ostagar. Never before have I bothered to turn my gaze inward, it is not usually desirable for an assassin so to do for he might lose the edge necessary for survival. I wish to be back in her good graces for I have missed her company and I wish no more harm to come to her from any direction but it is no more than that. My interest lies in broader shoulders and a more rugged form than that of the pocket goddess. That said, I am a man who enjoys beauty in many forms and certainly there is much to admire in those luscious curves. Surely she would keep a dead man warm in the coldest of winter nights.”

 

“I can’t argue with that,” Blake answered drily, his shoulders easing ever so slightly with relief. “Let’s get these earrings in, shall we? And then have a drink before we go back to Denerim to confront Weylon. He won’t get away with his lies this time,” he growled, eyes cold and flinty.

 

“No, that he shall not,” Zevran answered softly. His victims would have been familiar with the menace in his tone.


	37. From Man to Dog

Zevran would indeed have lost his bet if he had been foolish enough to wager. As soon as they were out of sight Alistair pulled Jannasilane close so he could trace intricate designs between the lacing at the sides of her armor. “Maker’s breath, you are so beautiful,” he breathed. “This fringe is driving me crazy. It taunts me even when you stand still.” He cursed when she laughed, a womanly laugh of triumph. He reluctantly removed his hands from her and then turned away breathing heavily. “If we don’t stop now I’ll take you here and damn anybody who comes along. I will not disrespect you that way,” he stood slowly, “even if it kills me,” he muttered to himself. “He looked her in the eye then, “but later, later we will finish this,” he promised.

 

She smiled slowly, tracing a finger down the front of his shirt before stepping away. “Since you began this little interlude I will hold you to this, Alistair.” In that moment she felt all powerful, the goddess Zevran called her, and then it was gone and she smiled mischievously, “Or I shall have to re-think my options, maybe ask Morrigan for advice.” He swatted her on the rear and growled something unintelligible and they continued on their mission to save the ears of all companions.

 

They found Leliana first and she bounded gracefully towards them, “Wynne said you were successful, ooh, that armor is darling on you. How fortunate the First Enchanter remembered it existed. Let me see the earrings, I hope there are some pretty ones.” Once again Jannasilane poured out earrings and the pretty redhead oohed and aahed over the choices. Standing so close together, the attractive women smiling and laughing reminded Alistair of Blake’s suggestion and he began picturing Leliana joining them in bed. He groaned louder than he realized as he felt himself twitching in response.

 

“Is something wrong, Alistair? I suppose you think this is all boring . . .” Leliana’s voice trailed off when he blushed and shook his head. She caught a glimpse of heat when he looked at Jannasilane and then away. “Oh, well then, I shall continue to look at earrings, shall I? Yes, I shall.” She wondered how her friend didn’t go up in flames from the intensity of his gaze. _“Well, well, our innocent young templar is growing up and is quite the man of passion. I wish . . .”_

 

Jannasilane was perplexed but since he didn’t appear willing to enlighten her she shrugged and let it pass. “I thought these would be pretty with your hair and eyes,” she held up a pair of rose-gold hoops with blue stones dangling playfully from them. “You have more options as an archer,” she said matter-of-factly.

 

“Thank you so very much,” said Leliana, pleased. “They are still small enough not to get in my way. Let me put them on now and you can tell my how they look.” She quickly replaced her simple studs with the dainty hoops. “Well?” she asked.

 

“They really make your eyes look bigger and bluer,” Jannasilane replied.

 

“I feel fortunate to be in the company of two such exceptionally pretty women,” Alistair said and gave a slight bow. “Ladies, shall we join Sten and deliver to him his earrings? I believe he is somewhere in that direction avoiding everybody but Shale.” With a woman on each arm they moved on their way. The effect was somewhat spoiled by Jannasilane and Leliana giggling but Alistair strove manfully to ignore them. When they saw Sten Jannasilane let go of Alistair and ran to the Qunari. Alistair gulped as he watched her fringe accentuating the swing of her hips. In an effort to save himself he looked at the redhead still with him, “Leliana, do you think you could put my earrings in for me? If I do it I’ll make a mess of it for sure. They’ll end up in the wrong place, Morrigan will laugh at me and General Lee will take away my manly credentials.”

 

“We can’t have any of those things happening, I will be glad to poke –er, put them in for you. I could do it now while Janna is busy with Sten,” Leliana said with a straight face.

 

Alistair eyed her warily, “I think I would prefer a mug of ale when you do them.”

 

Jannasilane returned and Leliana smiled to see how much easier she was with the templar. “I have agreed to help Alistair with his earrings but I think he needs you to hold his hand while I do this.”

 

“Hey, if you’re going to poke holes in my ears I want a distraction,” he responded good-naturedly. Once they were settled in the Wardens’ room Alistair began to get nervous when he saw Leliana cleaning a needle and coating it with a healing poultice. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

 

“Relax, Alistair, I know my way around all sorts of pointy objects. There is a reason I am called Princess Stabbity-Stab after all.”

 

“Why does that not reassure me?” Alistair said and sighed. He pulled Jannasilane to him so she was standing between his knees and rested his head on top of hers. “You’re going to have to hug me tight to make sure I get through this difficult procedure with my dignity intact,” he wrapped his arms around her. Jannasilane giggled and hugged him, leaning her head on his chest.

 

Leliana rolled her eyes in amusement and quickly threaded the needle through his left ear followed by one hoop. Then she did the other. “All done,” she said.

 

“Really? That was quick,” Alistair said, reluctantly releasing his hold on Jannasilane. “I expected it to hurt more.”

 

“Do you wish me to try again, Alistair? I am sure I could do a better job of meeting your expectations,” Leliana grinned impishly. Jannasilane snorted in amusement.

 

Alistair waved his hands in front of him, words coming out in a rush, “No, no. This is fine, thank you.” He stood then and looked around for the mirror. “Do I still look manly?” he quipped.

 

“Very handsome, my Ali,” Jannasilane said and patted his backside.

 

Leliana giggled, “Your appearance, it has a certain rakishness now, a bit of the pirate. I think they go quite well with your coloring. They’re rather subtle, really, more than I first thought.”

 

She started to leave the room but Jannasilane stopped her, “Wait, I could use your help with General Lee.”

 

Leliana shook her head, “I am sorry, you are a dear friend but I do not want to get near those teeth with a needle in my hands. You will have to rely on your Wardens.” She was out the door before Jannasilane could entreat her further.

 

Jannasilane huffed and turned towards Alistair who was already shaking his head, “Nope, ever since I got too near his food one night and he nipped me I’ve been careful. I love you but he’s finally stopped growling at me and leaving things in my bedroll and pack. I don’t have a chance of getting near his ears with something pointy.” He thought a moment, “make sure you have food with you as a peace offering.”

 

She batted her eyelashes and cooed, “Oh is my big, brave warrior afraid of one itsy-bitsy dog?”

 

“If you think,” he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “You are going to get me to do what you want by poking at my ego think again. Morrigan’s made me immune to such tactics,” He bit her ear and then lightly sucked on the lobe, “You taste so good, I could eat you up.” He nibbled and kissed his way down her throat, across her cheeks and finally took control of her lips. “I could stay here forever with you, how would you like to be an innkeeper?”

 

Jannasilane sighed and whispered, “You make me forget myself, Alistair.” It was his turn to grin in triumph, causing her to flush. “I do not think we would be able to stay in the bedroom if we ran an inn,” she said sternly. She squared her shoulders and straightened up, “If you will not help me then I shall deal with General Lee by myself. He is a smart dog, I am sure he will listen to reason.” She ignored his skeptical expression and marched out.

 

Alistair watched the sway of her hips, the fringe dancing around her. _“I am a lucky man, I wonder if she can wear that with just the harness and skirt?”_ He stopped himself from being distracted at the images he conjured for himself and began putting on his armor. _“I can at least be ready to throw myself in the breach if General Lee doesn’t cooperate.”_ He whistled cheerfully and left the room in search of his lady love and the object of her quest. The halls were empty as was the taproom. He stepped outside to the sounds of battle by a rotting skiff near the water. He hurried over to see Jannasilane and General Lee squaring against each other.

 

Jannasilane was wet, disheveled and muddy. General Lee wasn’t much better as he stood growling at her. “You are making me very angry, General Lee. Perhaps you should be renamed Private Lee, the way you are acting,” she scolded the mabari. “I expected much better from you, you know very well that if I use my battle song it hurts you and can do worse. Do you really want Blake to be cut down by a darkspawn because you were too much of a weak kitten to allow me to put small earrings on you? My wardens look very handsome and you will as well,” She stepped toward the snarling mabari.

 

“He’s going to make her pay for that,” Alistair started when Blake spoke behind him. “I should probably help her before things get worse.” He didn’t have the chance. Tired of trying to reason with General Lee Jannasilane let out a fierce battle cry and stunned the mabari. Quicker than Morrigan could make a snide comment she leapt forward and attached the earrings to General Lee’s ears. She was just able to daub them with a healing poultice before he shook himself back to alertness and lunged at her. The two men ran to her assistance.

 

“Get off me, I do not wish to hurt you but I will if you do not move,” she shouted at General Lee. His response was to take her arm in his mouth and give it a shake. She clubbed him alongside his muzzle. He released her arm but knocked them both into Lake Calenhad. She stood and let forth another cry which he ignored as he leapt on her. “Didn’t bother you that time did it?” she yelled. General Lee stopped growling and tilted his head quizzically at her. He sat down, immobilizing her so she was still half in the water. She pushed at him ineffectually, unable to get enough leverage to get him off of her. “I told you they would protect you.” She decided to borrow a page from Leliana, “I must say they suit you. You look a bit like an attractive pirate, a hint of danger. I am sure female mabari will fight for your attention.”

 

“Bark!” General Lee wagged his stumpy tail and moved to shore. He shook himself dry while Jannasilane struggled to get out of the water. Alistair held out a hand to assist her and manfully ignored her glares.

 

Blake didn’t help when he laughed at her bedraggled appearance. “You look like a drowned chicken. Better clean yourself up while you can, Package. We’re leaving soon. I’m sure Alistair will be more than happy to clean your leathers for you. Come on, General Lee. Let’s go find something to eat.” The man and his mabari sauntered off.

 

“He’s right, my love, about getting you cleaned up. I don’t want you getting sick. Who knows what might be in that Lake,” Alistair ignored her grumbles about ‘blasted mabari’ as they walked back to the inn and their room. He was also careful not to look at her until he could control his own amusement at her appearance. Fred’s wife clucked in dismay at the sight of Jannasilane and insisted on bringing her some warmed wine while she cleaned and changed. Finally they left the Spoiled Princess for their confrontation with Weylon in Denerim.

 

For several days General Lee and Jannasilane were at odds. Morrigan was entertained but she was the only one. The others ignored them and by the time they arrived in Denerim relations were more settled. All of them had a chance to appreciate their new earrings when they were attacked before setting up camp one night. Stunned by the battle song the band of thugs was quickly overpowered with little effort.


	38. A Cold Wind Blows . . .

They were staring down at the remains of what was presumably the real Weylon. “He’s been dead for some time,” Blake pronounced. “I wonder how many of Arl Eamon’s knights are still alive.” He shook his head at the thought, “I certainly hope only a handful were victims of the false Weylon and his band of zealots. Looks like Morrigan was right about a dragon cult, though it certainly seems odd to combine Andraste and dragons. I’ve never heard of Haven. I’ve seen some maps of the area and it was pretty sparse as far as any towns or villages.”

 

“I don’t like that they went to such efforts to send people into an ambush. If they had simply killed Weylon and stolen the research who would know? Wouldn’t anybody looking for Brother Genitivi just assume he was traveling somewhere, possibly conducting research of some kind? That appears to be what he does,” Alistair asked.

 

“It matters not. These people tried to hurt you and they must die,” Jannasilane said fiercely. The others looked at her in surprise. This was not the friendly young woman they were used to.

 

Blake looked at her and quirked an eyebrow, “Protecting us, Package?” he couldn’t help being amused.

 

Jannasilane snarled, there was no other way to describe it, and turned towards him. “Do not mock me, Warden. You are my friends and my Wardens and you are needed for this Blight.” She poked her finger in his chest, “I may not be huge like you and Ali but this does not mean I will not protect you as is my responsibility.”

 

“Like you protected Riordan?” Morrigan asked. The two Wardens glared at her.

 

Sorrow filled Jannasilane’s expression, “I did not do well by Rio; this is truth. I have learned from that error and pray to the Maker that I will be able to correct it one day.” She turned her attention back to their leader, “You will not rid yourselves of me so easily. This I promise to you.” She lifted her head high and left to rummage through the rest of the small house, looking for more clues. Alistair looked at Blake in silent communication and then followed her.

 

“Do you have to poke at _every_ body?” Blake asked irritably.

 

Morrigan thought about his question for a moment. “Yes,” she answered, “I rather think I do. I want to know the weaknesses of the people with whom I travel. She is stronger than she was before. To be honest I am rather surprised.” Blake gazed at her, his expression giving away none of his thoughts, but didn’t respond.

 

Alistair watched Jannasilane picking through a variety of books in what could only be described as a small den being used as a pantry.  “You didn’t fail Riordan you know,” he said quietly, bracing himself for her anger when she whirled to face him. “He’s older and more experienced and he was right about you not having the skills to go with him where he needed to go. If you had you would both have ended up captured or dead. You know I’m right,” he asserted.

 

“You are trying to make me feel better,” she accused him and then shrugged. “But this does not mean you are wrong. And it does not mean I don’t feel responsible somehow. I think I must take lessons in sneakery from Leliana and Zevran. I will never be as good as they are but I do not want my presence to endanger you or Blake.”

 

“I always feel better when you’re around,” it was Alistair’s turn to shrug. “I also thought you were incredibly sexy when you were scolding Blake. In that robe your breasts really quivered in outrage and your eyes were on fire. It was all I could do not to pull you into my arms and taste that fire for myself.” He reached for her and pulled her close, “We’re alone now, and maybe I’ll do just that.”

 

She barely had time to mutter, “You always think I’m sexy,” before his mouth was plundering hers. She sank into his passion and let it wash away her regrets. Reluctantly she broke away, “In truth I always find you attractive. When you are flustered you are so cute I could eat you all up. When you smile I sometimes forget what I want to say.”

 

Alistair couldn’t help beaming with smug male pride. His eyes bright with desire he leered at her, “Speaking of eating . . . maybe this isn’t the time to bring it up but . . . there’s something I’d like to try some time.” Jannasilane blushed at the way he looked at her and waited for him to continue. “Do you remember a few weeks ago telling Blake how you like to savor candied nuts?” He waited for her to nod and his cheeks pinkened with his next words, “I’d like you to do that with me, that is m-my manhood i-in your m-m-outh. But without the crunching, cracking and crushing please,” he added in a hurry.

 

Jannasilane stared at his chest, her cheeks bright red as she thought about what he was requesting. Suddenly shy she peeked up at him to see he was just as red as she was but with a hopeful look in his eyes. “You are very big, Ali, but I will think on this. I like very much when you . . . I am sorry I did not think to, uhm, reciprocate.” She went back to staring at his chest.

 

“Don’t be sorry my love, I have never ever been unsatisfied with our l-lovemaking. I would never have guessed that I could feel the level of desire and passion I do when I’m with you.” He hugged her and rested his chin on her head, one of his favorite resting positions, “Feel better?”

 

She smacked him on the arm, “All this talk was just to make me feel better? Humph.”

 

He laughed and picked her up, “I always think of you as tiny, well you are compared to me anyway, until I pick you up. You are a good bit heavier than you look.”

 

“Are you saying I’m fat?!” she squawked just as the others joined them.

 

“I’m saying I expected you to be lighter. Blake, what do you think?” and he tossed her into his friend’s arms.

 

Blake laughed and made a great show of lifting her up and down in the air, “You might be right, Alistair. Here Zev,” and he in turn tossed her into the Antivan’s arms.

 

Zevran playfully staggered back, “This is what I expected when I came to Ferelden: that sexy women would fall into my arms out of the air. I would say that Pocket Goddess is even more woman than she appears. It is a crime to even suggest she is heavy.”

 

“That is a much better answer,” Jannasilane smiled at the elf and hopped down. Zevran smirked at the glare Alistair gave him. “But,” she said sternly, hands on her hips and stamping her foot for emphasis, “I am not a bouncy ball to be thrown from one to another.” Morrigan snorted but didn’t say anything. She picked up a pile of books and threw them into a satchel she found. “These are mostly about dragons or Andraste, I do not think they have any more information about Haven or these cultists but at least they are something to read.”

 

“Oh? I thought you were too busy at camp to do something so . . . solitary as read,” Morrigan commented rather snidely.

 

“Sounding jealous, Morrigan. Maybe you want to join them?” Blake intervened before either Package or Alistair could respond.

 

“Jealous? Ugh, I should say not,” the dark haired witch joined the other two in sputtering.

 

“My mistake,” Blake said lightly and then sobered, “Let’s get back to camp. Haven is in the mountains and I doubt we’ll find many places to resupply along the way. I want to double-check our supplies for the cold. We’ll be in there longer than when we were at Soldier’s Peak and I have a feeling the trail will be more intangible. The Peak wasn’t meant to be invisible, after all.”

 

“I take your point. These people seem to be doing their best to insure that Haven remains unknown,” Alistair agreed.

 

That was over three weeks ago. Some of the Brother’s notes were rather cryptic and they were forced to backtrack more than once because of it. Recently they could feel themselves being watched and they were still two days away from Haven. The wind and snow seemed to be actively working against them. Even Jannasilane shivered in the bitter cold in spite of the heavy wool cloak she wore. “We’re fit and strong, how did Brother Genitivi manage to get this far?” Alistair groused.

 

“I am not sure this weather is completely natural,” Morrigan offered her opinion. “It might be a defense created after your Genitivi reached Haven to discourage other followers.”

 

“I’ve read something of this in the Circle. The tome was old and incomplete but from what I pieced together a lot of power and energy is necessary to create it, especially at this distance, but a fairly low amount of both is all that’s needed to maintain it. I don’t know how it’s done but I did get the impression it used or was somehow connected to a life force.” Wynne found it difficult to talk; her words were practically being ripped away from her.

 

Blake rubbed his forehead, “So we’re dealing with a dragon cult _and_ blood magic. Our luck is getting better and better. Let’s just press on and be extra alert for trouble.”

 

Alistair bent his head down to speak to Jannasilane, “How are you doing, Jannamylove?”

 

“I am fine, my Ali,” she smiled up at her warrior. “At least it will be better when we get close to Haven.”

 

“Does the mini it have a reason for such a claim?” Shale, the only party member not bothered by the fierce weather, rumbled.

 

Jannasilane looked up at the big stone creature and shrugged, “The purpose of these weather attacks is to discourage people from reaching Haven, is it not? Once somebody reaches Haven it is no longer necessary. There is no sense in the villagers themselves being obstructed. I could be wrong.”

 

“Logical,” Sten concurred. 

 

“Sexy **and** smart, I am a lucky, lucky man,” Alistair grinned for the first time since they were bombarded with ice and wind. The group continued on, slowly making progress. They couldn’t even make camp for the night, the strong winds making it impossible to put up their tents. Instead they huddled together for warmth during short breaks. “Well, one good thing about this weather, it’s keeping the darkspawn away.”

 

“Yes, Alistair, thank you for pointing that out. But perhaps we can stand in a circle holding hands and thanking the Maker later,” Blake said sarcastically.

 

Alistair grimaced but didn’t say anything else. They were all tired and short-tempered, even the stoic Sten was showing signs of frustration, something he didn’t think possible. He hoped Jannasilane was right and they would soon be out of this strange weather.

 

She was. When they were finally through the cold barrier they all breathed a sigh of relief. Now they could see a definitive trail with irregular steps worked into the mountainside. “It's late and I don't want to be caught in the dark on that trail. Set up camp but be on the alert. I won’t be surprised if they try to ambush us so three of us remain on guard duty at all times,” Blake declared. He sent General Lee out to sniff out any potential enemies and took Zevran with him to set up some traps.

 

“It'll be nice to sleep in a tent again. After the past few days it feels like a luxury,” Alistair half laughed.

 

“Yes, I agree. I miss snuggling beside you even when you snore,” Jannasilane answered with a straight face.

 

Alistair was indignant, “I do not snore. It's against the Grey Warden handbook; I would be laughed out of the order. This cold has obviously affected your brain so I forgive you unless you decide to repeat such slander.” He pouted as he reflected on her words. He looked at her when he realized he missed the first part of her statement and smiled lazily, “You miss me, do you? Well it's a good thing we're stopping for the night because I've missed you, too.”

 

Nobody lingered over the quick dinner Morrigan prepared. All but Shale looked forward to sleeping in tents and bedrolls. Alistair and Jannasilane found themselves alone by the fire for a few minutes before Leliana and Alistair took first watch with Shale. He sat by her side and watched the fire play on her hair and skin. “Here,” he handed her something, “do you know what this is?”

 

Jannasilane looked at the deep red rose and then at Alistair. She lifted one eyebrow and her eyes twinkled with amusement, “It is your new weapon of choice, my Ali?”

 

“Yes! Beware darkspawn as I overcome you with the power of floral arrangements,” he took a theatrical sniff of the rose. “Or it's just a rose. I saw it in Lothering and marveled at how something so perfect and beautiful could grow and survive amidst so much death and despair. I probably shouldn’t have picked it but I just couldn't leave it for the darkspawn to destroy. It, it reminds me of you and how beautiful you are inside and out.  Being with you is as rare and precious as this last rose and I want you to have it. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment but who knows when that will come.”

 

She carefully held the rose in her cupped hands and gently stroked the petals with her thumb. She didn’t know what to say. His words touched her and when she searched his gaze she saw nothing but love and tenderness. Without regret she let the last barrier fall, “I love you, my Ali. You smiled at me on the road to Lothering and I felt as if the sun itself was showering me with its warmth. I regret I did not tell you before now but I was afraid, afraid you would reject me, afraid that my . . . circumstances would prevent us being together. You are a nobleman and I a -.”

 

“Stop right there,” he said harshly. “I am the bastard of a dead king. That does not make me a nobleman. Even if I were, nothing is worth losing you. Nothing! You are everything I want and more than I deserve. Don’t you dare forget it, Jannasilane Alenahaella. Without you I am just a husk of a man. I don’t want to go back to that. I don’t want to be like that templar in the Tower, the one enthralled by the desire demon because his life was so empty anything was preferable.”

 

“You won’t be, my Ali,” she promised. “I am yours, always, this is truth. It is too late for you to change your mind, this is also truth.”

 

“No take backs for you either, my love, we’re meant to be together. Always,” he held her in his arms until Leliana returned. With regret he let go of Jannasilane.

 

“Good night, Leliana,” Jannasilane smiled at her friend and kissed Alistair on the cheek before going to the tent she shared with the Wardens. Alistair watched her until she was inside, not realizing he had a sappy smile on his face.

 

Leliana said nothing. She could tell that things were finally right between the two of them and she was happy to let Alistair savor the moment. Only her humming gave any indication of how pleased she was.


	39. Haven, an Odd and Creepy Place

Blake and Zevran had the final watch so Alistair and Jannasilane were alone when they woke. He opened his eyes first and smiled to himself remembering the night before. He looked at the woman in his arms and marveled at his good fortune. At some point while sleeping his hand found its way inside her nightshirt and was cupping her breast. He nuzzled her hair and watched her body react to the slow caresses of his fingers on her skin until she woke, “Good morning, Jannalove.”

 

She smiled sleepily and stretched slowly like a cat, rubbing against him. “Good morning, my Ali, my love.” Jannasilane was mesmerized by the gentle glow in his eyes when she called him her love. She tilted her face up to his and kissed him with great tenderness. “I wish we could stay like this all day, my Ali.”

 

“So do I, my love, so do I. But I have a hunch if we don’t get up soon our good friend Blake will collapse the tent on top of us. Maker’s breath, you are so beautiful,” he whispered against her lips. Regretfully he sat up and helped her to her feet. When she had on the soft leather undertunic of her armor he couldn’t help admiring her. “In that tunic with your hair flowing around you look like an ancient goddess, maybe of the Avvars or Alamari.”

 

She pretended to scowl at him, “First you say I’m fat now you say I’m old.”

 

“I said neither and you know it,” he growled and pounced on her. He began tickling her while biting and kissing her neck and shoulders. She giggled and squirmed under his ministrations, begging him to stop. “Old and fat my ass,” he muttered in her ear before he reached for the rest of her armor and handed it to her.

 

“It is such a pretty ass, too, so round and tight. I am quite fond of your ass, my Ali,” she responded playfully. Minutes later they left the tent together, holding hands.

 

He was pleased to notice that the others were just starting to gather. Alistair flushed a little when he saw some of the marks he had left on her skin. He brought her fingers to his lips, “Coffee, my lady?”

 

“I would like that, my Ali,” Jannasilane spoke softly and smiled up at him. Blake smirked knowingly at them but didn’t say anything.

 

Zevran had no such compunctions. Ostensibly speaking to Leliana he teased, “My lovely Leliana, have you composed a suitable song for the lovebirds among us? One with a lot of ‘billing and cooing’ as it were.”

 

“Right, I’ll do the billing and you can do the cooing,” Alistair told Jannasilane and rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

 

“Coo . . . coo.”

 

“Ugh, stop before I lose my breakfast,” Morrigan demanded.

 

“Bo-nus,” Alistair sing-songed.

 

“This behavior is not helpful. What do you propose, Warden?” Sten turned to Blake.

 

Blake shrugged, “We go up the mountain and find some answers. It’s possible only a group of zealots is responsible for the attacks and deception in Denerim. Be respectful but prepared. We’ll play it by ear.”

 

Sten frowned, “That is no plan. What does it mean, ‘play it by ear?’ We have no instruments other than Leliana’s lute and that is played with hands.”

 

“You Qunari are so literal,” Blake muttered. “I mean we go up there and act based on what we find and our reception by the locals. I don’t want to fight if it’s not necessary but I want us all to be alert for any sign of danger.”

 

“I approve of remaining alert,” Sten was not impressed though recently he’d begun to think the Warden showed promise.

 

Bodahn and Sandal remained behind. Guiding their cart up the mountain trail would be tricky enough under the best conditions and would only be in the way in an attack. Bodahn agreed to join them in the village when it was safe. “Who knows? These people could perhaps use some of the goods I carry and I might find something I can sell when we return.”

 

The closer they got to Haven the more uneasy Jannasilane, Wynne and Morrigan became. The surly guard at the top of the path who tried to discourage them from entering compounded this feeling. “They’re hiding something,” Morrigan noted.

 

“Small towns often have nasty little secrets, sometimes with whips and chains. Perhaps I can join in?” Zevran quipped.

 

Blake tried not to smile though it was difficult when he saw the blank looks on the faces of Package and Alistair. Finally they were at the Chantry. Father Eirik stopped preaching when strangers entered his sanctum and dismissed the parishioners. “You didn’t have to stop, we would have just waited until you were done,” Blake said quietly and approached the man.

 

In answer the Revered Father went into a long speech about the danger of strangers and duty to protect one’s home before commanding his guards to attack. These guards weren’t as skilled as those who tried to ambush them outside the Spoiled Princess and even Father Eirik’s magic wasn’t enough to make them remotely equal to the experienced Wardens. Blake looked down at the dead men on the floor and scowled, “I guess they won’t be telling us anything. Look around for any clues to Brother Genitivi’s whereabouts.”

 

In one room off to the side Jannasilane and Alistair found some chests with expensive looking items, “Looks like they aren’t immune to commerce. Or perhaps they send groups out to rob merchants and caravans,” he suggested.

 

Across the building Zevran, Blake and Leliana were examining a wall. “This does not make sense,” the redhead shook her head thoughtfully, “a wall here does not fit the architecture of the rest and surely from outside I would have guessed there to be a room. Every Chantry I have been in, regardless of size, has had the same general layout. There is the main room where the people come with either a small room or alcove on either side of the altar or podium. Usually they do not even have doors.”

 

“Aha, more secrets, perhaps a secret room?” Zevran’s eyes lit up as he began examining and testing the wall for seams or a control switch.

 

Blake watched those nimble fingers and the elf’s look of concentration and imagined that attention focused on him. He felt himself becoming aroused and suddenly felt sad and alone. Package and Alistair had finally come to terms and were happy. Last night he saw her looking at the rose the templar gave her and sometimes thought Elissa would have looked just that way when she fell in love. He admitted to himself that he envied his two friends. Did he want that for himself? He didn’t know, but he wanted more than what he had which was nothing. He missed Dairren. They understood and accepted each other without judgment and without any illusions of a great love affair, just a deep and long-standing friendship which happened to express itself physically at times. _“I wonder if Mother or Father knew. Before that last night, did either of them know? They certainly never said anything.”_ He snorted, _“Of course they knew. Nothing happened at Highever that Mother didn’t find out about and if she knew she told Father. The only thing they didn’t know was Howe’s true nature, the bastard.”_

 

_“Yes, here it is,”_ Zevran finally found the mechanism to open the secret door. “These cultists knew how to keep their secrets; this switch was very well hidden. Shall I open the door, my dear Warden or do you wish to have the honors?” Hearing no answer he turned and saw the Warden was deep in thought, so deep that he didn’t hear the elf talking to him. He frowned slightly, _“Our leader does not look happy, what is he thinking about to put such a cloud of sadness in those dark intriguing eyes?”_ He touched Blake’s arm and felt him barely control a start of surprise, “Warden, I found the mechanism.” He spoke quietly, hoping the others did not notice their leader’s preoccupation.

 

Blake took a breath and focused, “Well, let’s see what the _esteemed_ _Father_ was hiding.” He motioned for Zevran to open the door. He swore under his breath when he saw what was behind the door. “Wynne,” he yelled, “we need you in here.” He started to examine the man on the floor; he was an older man with ink-stained fingers, definitely not a knight. “Brother Genitivi, I presume,” and hastened to reassure the man when he reacted with fear and distress. “We’re here to help. I am the Grey Warden Blake Cousland, this is Zevran Arainai and the lovely woman coming to your aid is Senior Enchanter Wynne, a very skilled healer. Wynne, he’s pretty badly hurt, can you help him?”

 

“Yes, of course,” she began healing. “You should stay off that foot for a few days and I think you’ll be fine but it is pretty damaged and there is still a danger of you losing it.”

 

“Thank you, that’s much better. I was afraid it might have to come off,” Genitivi sighed with relief. “At least it won’t be right now and even if it were it would be a small loss in comparison to my findings. All my research indicates the Ashes are not far away in a temple deeper in the mountains; maybe a day’s journey or two. The people here did not like me asking questions; I thought you might be coming to finish me off, truth be told. I don’t understand why they kept me so long. Don’t misunderstand, I’m very thankful, just confused.”

 

Blake sighed and motioned the others away, “I think I can clear up some of your confusion. Brother Genitivi, do you have an assistant? . . .”

 

“I want to know more about this place before we go any further,” Alistair took charge. “It’s more than a bit creepy; most shops do not have dead bodies in the back and children playing with finger bones that are just lying around somewhere is s-o-o-o not normal. More guards might be coming to the Chantry so I’ll stay here. Wynne will stay as well in case Brother Genitivi needs her. The rest of you split up and see what you can find then come back here in an hour. Nobody searches alone and if you find something worth pursuing gather the others and return immediately. No heroics.”

 

“So commanding and sexy,” Morrigan sidled provocatively past him, “but do not think I do this because you tell me. I do this only because for once I agree.” She condescendingly patted the side of his face and moved down the path.

 

“Eeuw,” Alistair muttered under his breath. Sten went with her as much to keep an eye on her as to protect her. After some discussion between them Leliana went off with Shale and General Lee while Jannasilane was paired with Zevran. Alistair followed them outside where he would stand guard.

 

Before they left Jannasilane turned towards her big warrior, “Morrigan was right about one thing, my Ali, you were quite commanding and so very sexy I wanted to just leap on you.”

 

“I too found you to be quite compelling and attractive,” Zevran purred. He was quite pleased to see that their comments had the templar blushing.

 

Alistair shook his head, “You are both wicked, wicked people. I will deal with **you** ,” he looked directly into Jannasilane’s eyes with heat and promise, “later. Now get out of here. And be careful, my love.”

 

Soon Jannasilane and Zevran caught up to the others on the path to the village where they were engaged in fighting some of the villagers even though they were mostly unarmed. It was hardly a matter of minutes before they were defeated and the different groups could begin their search for information. Zevran and Jannasilane were quiet as they searched the first house. They found nothing and moved on to the next.

 

She shuddered the minute they walked in. “I do not like this place, Zevran. It feels of magic, the type to make my skin crawl. There is a hint of it all over Haven but here it is strong.”

 

“I have learned to trust your instincts, Pocket Goddess. We shall examine this dark place very carefully and unearth its secrets.” They found a torch and lit it and soon saw what made Jannasilane so uneasy. “Some Crows have performed rituals like this, it makes them uncommonly strong,” he said soberly while staring at the blood-covered altar at one end of the building. “All this blood is definitely not from anything as small as a chicken. I fear Haven had a special purpose for any of your Arl Eamon’s knights who journeyed this far.” He noticed her shivering, “come, my dear, let us see what other secrets might be hidden elsewhere. I do not relish being near this cursed thing.”

 

Jannasilane let him lead her away from the altar. She watched him as he picked the locks on a couple of chests and joined him when he began to search the contents. “Zevran, why have you been so nice to me since I came back? And even before, now that I think about it,” Jannasilane finally got up the nerve to ask the question which had been on her mind for several weeks.

 

He looked at her closely before answering. He could see lingering shadows of the hurt he caused her and knew he had to answer truthfully, “I hurt you. I deliberately and cruelly seduced you so I could crush you, an act of which I am deeply ashamed and regretful. If it takes the rest of my life I will make it up to you, somehow, someway. I have had to do many things as an assassin, some of which I am not proud of but they were necessary. Until you never had I gone out of my way to harm an innocent. That I found myself capable of such ugliness was . . . enlightening and repugnant.”

 

“Why, exactly did you . . . not the s-seduction, you are quite attractive and I could have said no, but afterwards?”

 

“Ah, my innocent Minit, I am highly skilled and seduction is a very useful tool in my line of work. All those innocent touches were cleverly disguised caresses, designed to bring about your desire to its peak, making it nearly impossible to refuse me. I did not take advantage of what happened I orchestrated it. Since you wish to know I will answer you with nothing but the complete truth. I owe you this, at the very least. The simple answer is I was jealous. I usually prefer women, and you are a most desirable woman with your luscious curves and sleek muscles, but I find myself attracted to our leader. More than to any in a long time. I did not know I was jealous, just that you were an impediment to something I wanted. Or so I thought.”

 

He stopped speaking as he pondered how to continue, “During our assassin training we are taught not to have feelings, that they are an impediment to our survival. I have had many lovers, some for business and many more for pleasure. I look for ways to enjoy the moment because I might not have another. That philosophy has been enough until now. I thought you were gorgeous and wildly sexy from the moment we met; after your rift with Alistair I probably would have tried to seduce you anyway since the Warden has not seemed inclined to follow up on any of my offers. I like sex,” he shrugged. “But I would not have tried so hard and put you in the position of having no choice, nor would I have felt any urge to hurt you afterwards. Only when it was too late did I come to understand jealousy was eating at me until I could only think that if the Warden realized you had been with me while you were with him he would end things with you and finally turn to me. A very poor and convoluted plan, I admit. I have looked at myself very closely since then and I did not like what I saw.”

 

“Worse, I missed you. I missed your eagerness to see new things and your questions about Antiva, your open friendliness. I did not even realize that I was fond of you beyond mere attraction. I destroyed as well any chances to be with a man I admire and desire. Even if he did not make it clear to me my own guilt won’t let me -”

 

Jannasilane grabbed his arm, “Blake knows? And, oh,” she turned bright red.

 

Zevran was alarmed, “Did I do something wrong? They were very worried about you, Alistair was devastated. I confessed my transgressions and told them what I observed in Redcliffe.” He looked at her anxiously.

 

“No, no, I was just surprised,” she hastened to reassure him. “Alistair knew anyway. I was not kind.”

 

“You were hurt, by him and then by me. He blames himself for all of it, I think. I never knew such a person for taking blame onto himself that is not his own. It must be a templar thing.”

 

“Do you love him? Blake, not Alistair I mean,” she added before he could make a smart comment.

 

Zevran humphed, “Love? What do I know of love? I was raised in a whorehouse by those serving individuals seeking the illusion. I understand desire and to some degree I understand friendship. Is that what you and your templar feel? I noticed you are even more relaxed and comfortable around each other. Did it take so long to forgive him?”

 

She looked away trying to hide her blush, “It’s complicated. Part of me has been waiting for him to turn away again. Then there is his heritage as a son of Maric. No matter what I feel I could never be a nobleman’s wife, much less a king’s. That’s not going to change.”

 

“So you were afraid to admit your feelings because of what might happen? Alistair has no desire to be anything other than a Grey Warden and he would give that up if it meant being with you. I have lived a selfish life, true, but I also appreciate the joys of today because they may not be there tomorrow. You nearly deprived yourself and him because of what might happen? You both deserve better than that,” he scolded her.

 

Jannasilane stared at him, searching carefully for the truth of his words. This was not the same Zevran who ambushed them. “You’ve changed,” she stated.

 

“I believe you told me that as I was old enough to be your father I should ‘grow up.’ I am trying to take your advice,” he answered lightly. “Although I do not think that I am quite that old.”

 

She lifted her hands, “You tell me; I am seventeen, sixteen when you tried to kill us. Or perhaps you don’t wish to admit your great age,” she teased.

 

“Ho, the insults. I should tell Alistair a wicked woman like you needs a good spanking from time to time. You might even enjoy it,” he bantered. Inwardly he was relieved that she truly seemed to have forgiven him, or was well on the way to doing so. He felt lighter than he had in a long time. “For your information I am a mere thirty-two, although I suppose that still puts me in the possible father range. Come, we are nearly done. Let us quickly finish and return to camp, I am ready to warm these ancient bones of mine by the fire.”

 

“Yes, Papa Zev,” she snickered and dodged out of reach of his fake cane.

 

When they rejoined the others Morrigan insisted on seeing the altar for herself, “That was human blood and more than any person can lose and still live. These villagers have been practicing some nasty habits. The Warden should know. I doubt Father Eirik was the only one involved.”

 

“Let us hurry back to my Ali. He will worry if we do not soon return,” she grabbed Zevran by the hand and began running.

 

“Is the mini it prone to these odd outbursts of behavior?” Shale questioned the others.

 

Morrigan snorted, “Judging by her relationship with that fool templar I would hardly call her bedding the elf odd, though the timing certainly might qualify.”

 

“Morrigan, you do not know that,” Leliana remonstrated. “Jannasilane loves Alistair and would not treat him that way. I suspect it is something completely different and possibly related to the altar they found. Speaking of which I believe we should also be returning to the Chantry.” She was not going to admit she was dying of curiosity and planned on gently interrogating her friend later.

 

“I hope you are not suggesting we also hold hands and run together,” Morrigan replied.

 

“She’s not,” Sten spoke for the first time. He turned away from them and began walking up the hill. A muttered, ‘                        

Vashedan’ drifted back to the remaining companions as they followed him.

 

“I was talking to Brother Genitivi about some of Haven’s oddities,” Blake was telling Alistair when he saw Zevran running up the path hand-in-hand with Jannasilane. _“This is interesting,”_ he felt hope grow in his chest at the possibilities opened by that occurrence. He couldn’t prevent the heat glowing in his eyes when he looked at the Antivan after Package threw herself at Alistair.

 

Zevran let his own desire show as he answered their unvoiced questions, “Pocket Goddess Minit was quite disturbed by an altar we found. It was covered in blood; most probably the blood of Arl Eamon’s missing knights. Morrigan confirmed that it was indeed human blood.”

 

“This is truth,” Jannasilane mumbled. She straightened up, “I feel better now but this Haven is not a good place. I will be quite happy to leave.”

 

Blake snorted in amusement, “So will Brother Genitivi. He says the Ashes are not far but the trail is likely to be a bit harder to follow than the path to Haven. Wynne fixed up his foot for now and he’s anxious to get started. He’s a tough old bird.” He saw the rest on the path and waited for them to gather before speaking further.


	40. Ancient Temple Current Dangers

Bodahn and Sandal were happily ensconced near the merchant shop and doing brisk business. Sten, Shale and Morrigan were making sure nobody followed the Wardens to the temple. Blake said he knew he could count on them to scare people off. Morrigan glared sullenly at him but Alistair thought he saw a slight smile on Sten’s face. Once Shale stomped a chicken to feathers the villagers were happy to give the golem an extra wide berth. The trail to the temple was proving as indiscernible as Brother Genitivi warned. Their pace was slow only in part to the Brother’s injuries. Here no steps were cut into the slope to make navigation easier and it appeared to be quite overgrown. This was camouflage as Zevran discovered. The cultists had cleverly tied ropes to some of the low hanging branches; they could pull on the ropes to raise the branches and clear the path then lower them behind them.

 

Jannasilane was walking beside Blake, “It is good you and my Ali have been doing your meditation exercises.”

 

“Package, I’m curious about something,” Blake held the branch back for the rest of the party, “Is this something you discussed with Riordan?” He almost regretted asking when he saw the look of sadness which briefly showed on her expressive face.

 

 “We talked much about Duncan and the Grey Wardens including nightmares. He said that in Jader they don’t allow new recruits to go into the Deep Roads for weeks or even months after their Joining, barring an emergency. The Warden-Commander of Jader, Nalia, put into place a special training program for new recruits. My Rio says he wishes he had such training when he was a new Warden; the most important part is the meditation exercises they undergo to build up their mental walls. He says too often new Wardens get overly jittery or even panic when they go underground. Commander Nalia feels this training helps the new recruits perform better with fewer injuries when they first go into battle. ”

 

She frowned and worried her lip as she sought to remember exactly what Riordan said, “The Deep Roads can be . . . unsettling. The taint, at least for some, can resonate within them strongly enough to drive them mad if they stay long enough. She, Nalia, won’t allow any Warden to go into the Deep Roads before they can begin to sense the darkspawn and have a chance to build a buffer against them. Even then she makes sure each new recruit is paired with a seasoned Warden their first time. I worry that you and my Ali might suffer when we go to Orzammar.”

 

“You’re a good girl, Package,” Blake squeezed her against him for a moment. “But the dwarves live in Orzammar, not the Deep Roads.”

 

“I’d like to hear more about this training program,” Alistair joined them. “We’ll have to rebuild the Wardens here in Ferelden at some point; do you think Riordan might be interested in transferring here and help us set up our own training program?” She would never know how hard it was for him to suggest her former lover join them for the long term. Over her head Blake looked at Alistair with an eyebrow lifted in query. Alistair nodded very slightly, his expression resolute. For some time they discussed rebuilding the order.

 

Joy and reverence shone on Brother Genitivi’s face when they finally reached the steps up to the temple. “This is it, after all my years of study.” Slowly and carefully he made his way up the steps without assistance. The others stood back and let him have his moment. He turned to face the Warden, “You have the medallion, Father Eirik’s medallion?” His hands trembled a little when Blake handed it to him, “If I turn this, then this . . . here we go. It should fit in the door now.”

 

“I’ve never seen or heard of a key like that,” Blake observed.

 

“It’s old, very old. I don’t know how common they used to be generations ago but they are quite rare now.” He unlocked the large doors, opened them wide and took one step inside before stopping dead. “This, this is, even damaged with snow and ice coming through this is more magnificent than I ever imagined,” he said in an awed whisper.

 

The others crowded in behind him and voiced their own amazement at what they saw. “I can't believe all this is still standing! This temple must be thousands of years old.” “Makers breath! Look at it all!” “I’ve read about some of the magnificent Tevinter architecture of old but seeing it . . .” “By the shifting skies of the Fade… this is… magnificent.” “Are those carvings on the wall?” “Ahhhh, an untouched treasure! What wonders await us here?” At the last comment Leliana, Brother Genitive and Wynne turned to glare at the assassin in disbelief.

 

“My friend Zevran is quite correct,” at that Alistair and Blake looked at each other in surprise, “would it not be wonderful if we could find many things long forgotten? You could be busy for years, Brother Genitivi.”

 

“That will have to wait, Package,” Blake said drily. “Right now we have work to do.”

 

“You go ahead; I couldn’t keep up with you. Perhaps I was only meant to get this far and no further. There is enough to keep me busy here and I doubt I’ll be bothered.” Brother Genitivi was disappointed but he took solace in the fact that he was here and his years of research weren’t’ for naught. Nor did he lie; there was much to study in the Great Hall alone.

 

“We’ll check it out, and not just for you. I don’t want to risk leaving anything at our backs. Alistair, you and Zevran explore the passages on the left side. Package and I will take the ones on the right. Leliana, I want you, Wynne and General Lee to explore the main room, make sure nothing nasty is hidden in these snow drifts. We’ll meet at the bottom of those stairs,” he pointed to the double staircase leading further up into the temple. Once they were alone he spoke up, “You’ve forgiven him, then.”

 

“Alistair? Yes, but you know this already,” she answered with mock innocence.

 

Blake gave her a couple of quick swats on her rear, “I meant Zevran and you know it, wicked minx.”

 

She pouted and rubbed her posterior, “I shouldn’t tell you.” She danced away when he threatened her rear again, “but I shall. Yes. We have talked about what happened; he is not the same elf who tried to assassinate us. I believe him when he says he regrets what he did. Well, I’m not sure he completely regrets the seduction part but the rest of it.”

 

“If he regretted having sex with you then he’d have to be an idiot. He’s not an idiot,” Blake smiled, relieved at the turn of events.

 

“I am sorry, my Blake, that you have been unhappy. I did not mean for you to be so,” she hugged him.

 

“Not your fault, Package,” he kissed the tip of her nose and then gave her rear another swat for fun. “Back to business.”

 

“You and Zevran should get along just fine,” she muttered when she went back to searching the area for hidden dangers. They found some scrolls and Jannasilane picked up a few books for Brother Genitivi to study while they were busy. She couldn’t help snickering when he couldn’t unlock a large door no matter how hard he tried. “Perhaps Zevran or Leliana will have better luck, or we will even find the key.”

 

“Perhaps,” Blake scowled; miffed he couldn’t pick the lock. “Since we’re done here, for now,” he stared balefully at the large door, “we should see if the others found anything interesting or alarming.” As they got closer to the main hall they heard sounds of battle and hurried forward. When the skirmish was over Blake looked around and scowled thoughtfully, “I think we’re going to find more than traps as we move forward. Brother Genitivi can’t keep up, I don’t want to leave him defenseless and I don’t want any more delays.”

 

“Wynne,” Alistair interrupted Blake’s musings, “that barrier you made at the Circle, could you make one here to keep people and demons out?”

 

Wynne blinked in surprise, “Alistair, the hall is far too big. What exactly do you have in mine? I trust you noticed how high the ceiling is.”

 

“We found a small study off a small hallway near the front of the temple. It doesn’t connect to anything and the opening to the hallway is smaller than what you blocked at the Tower.”

 

Blake picked up on his idea, “At the first sign of trouble you can send General Lee for reinforcements and then barricade yourself and the good Brother. You wouldn’t even have to keep it up as long as you did before.”

 

Wynne wished she could be part of the group to seek the Urn but realized that the Wardens offered the best solution, “Very well. I can do that quite easily. And it’s a way to keep him off that foot. I suggest we clear the hallways at the top of the steps before you young people explore deeper.”

 

“Thank you, Wynne. General Lee, you understand you’re not just on guard but you might need to guide the others here?”

 

“Bark!” General Lee wagged his little tail.

 

With a wave of his hand Blake signaled the group to spread out. After the dust settled Jannasilane was frowning and shaking her head; she was obviously perplexed about something. “There is something I do not understand. I thought I sensed blood magic but none of these mages are of that . . . hmm, that persuasion. However, some of these fighters feel like that. It is like the sensation at that bloody altar. I feel we will meet this as we go further in. Whatever it is. And there is a smell of something . . .”

 

“Perhaps you smell dragons. It is a dragon cult, after all,” Zevran suggested lightly though in truth he did not relish the prospect of finding or fighting such creatures. “And I did not say that my former brothers who performed such rites were mages. They were a secretive bunch even among the Crows and if I were not so curious as to spy on them one evening I would not even know of such things. I believe they referred to themselves as reavers. Well, reavers is the short version. They used some long and pompous sounding name which I did not bother to remember. Why do so many secret societies call themselves by grandiose names of which others are not to even be aware? I suppose it has to do with vanity.”

 

“Join the Wardens and see all sorts of cool dangers,” Alistair quipped as he rubbed his hand soothingly up and down Jannasilane’s back.

 

“We still need to find the key for the door Blake can’t open,” Jannasilane teased.

 

“A door our leader cannot open? This I must see for myself,” Leliana laughed.

 

Blake glared at Package, “Alistair, keep your woman in line.” Then he smiled slyly, “you may have to give her a good spanking.”

 

Alistair blinked, “Why would I do that?” He blushed when he saw identical wolfish grins on the other two men and even Leliana was biting her lip. “Oh,” he muttered softly. Jannasilane looked from him to the others; she was unsure how to react and decided it was safer just to ignore them. She didn’t feel any better when Blake and Zevran insisted only Alistair accompany them to the locked door. She watched them go down the steps and it was obvious that the two rogues were having an animated discussion with the warrior between them. Once Alistair looked back, his face a bright red study of exasperation and embarrassment.

 

That was the last light moment for any of them for some time. Around every corner were traps, ash wraiths or cultists. Sometimes they found forgotten statues or other relics. “Perhaps all these ash wraiths mean we are close,” Leliana suggested after another fight with the dangerous creatures. “According to legend some of Andraste’s most devoted disciples gave themselves to the flame that they might guard her resting place for eternity.”

 

“Huh, that’s . . . a really, really long time,” Alistair responded as they moved forward cautiously. “Even beautiful in a morbid kind of way.”

 

“Warden,” Blake never knew when Package would decide to use his title, “have we encountered more darkspawn or demons and blood mages?”

 

“Darkspawn, definitely darkspawn,” he thought of Ostagar. “Of course since Lothering we have come across a large number of demons and the like. Morrigan was being snide but that doesn’t mean she was wrong when she said it seemed as if people were using the Blight to address their grievances. Uldred’s revolt and the troubles at Redcliffe certainly support that argument. I can’t include Haven since this seems to be the norm. How odd to think that there’s a part of Ferelden the Chantry has never been, at least not the Chantry we know. Even the Korcari Wilds has been visited by the Chantry.”

 

“I am sure the Grand Cleric will seek to remedy this once Brother Genitivi returns to Denerim,” Leliana spoke softly.

 

Zevran had been scouting a short distance ahead, “There is a hole in the wall opening to some caverns. The passage I can see is quite narrow, a lovely spot for an afternoon ambush. Be careful, my dear Warden.”

 

“This place makes me itch,” Jannasilane muttered, “and the smell is stronger.” Whatever she sensed in the air caused something to stir deep inside her, something she didn’t understand. Every nerve ending was alert. Zevran didn’t even have a chance to make a smart comment about scratching her itch before they found the traps. And were attacked by dragonlings. While the others were staring at the young dragons lying at their feet she was looking ahead, shifting from one foot to the other.

 

“What is it, my itchstress?” Zevran asked.

 

Leliana coughed, “Zevran, you are the only person I know who could say something so odd and still sound seductive. However, I too would like to know what has our young friend so nervous.”

 

Jannasilane shrugged irritably, “I don’t know. I know only I do not like this feeling but I suppose it does not really matter; I fear we shall certainly find out soon enough what causes this, this thing I feel.” By the time they battled the drakes they encountered she was looking forward to their skirmishes with the creatures which only added to her disquiet. They had faced darkspawn, various mages, bandits, demons and abominations and never had she looked forward to fighting them, just accepted it as necessary. This desire to shed the blood of another creature was unwelcome to say the least. She pushed those thoughts aside and resolved to think about it later. It was a relief to finally meet Kolgrim, the leader of these Disciples of Andraste, face to face. She scanned the large cavern as she listened to his ridiculous claim that Andraste was a dragon. She snorted in derision.

 

“Your little follower should show due respect,” Kolgrim’s malevolent gaze bore into her.

 

“Package, they have the right to their opinion,” Blake warned. He remained calm as he continued questioning Father Kolgrim. Finally Kolgrim suggested Blake could make amends by pouring dragon blood on the Ashes. That was enough for him. “That sounds like a bad idea. We’re not defiling the Ashes for you.”

 

“Then prepare to face the wrath of the risen Andraste. To arms!” Kolgrim shouted. Thus ensued their toughest battle to date. Kolgrim and his fellow reavers and mages were indeed strong.

 

“I sense no more of his kind,” Jannasilane looked around the room at all the dead bodies.

 

Leliana shivered, “I am glad. Their abilities were unholy; perhaps in death they will find peace and true understanding of the Maker and Andraste.”

 

Blake lifted an eyebrow skeptically, “Perhaps. Let’s find the Ashes and get out of this place.”


	41. The Gauntlet

They had to blink when they emerged into the bright light of day. Jannasilane looked up to see a high dragon circling the sky far above them. “There is the Kolgrim’s Andraste,” she stated. Once again she felt something stirring inside.

 

“Well, let’s hope it stays there for I do not think it wise to engage such a creature,” Zevran half-whispered. He kept glancing at the sky warily as they made their way across the snow-covered path to a much smaller temple built into the side of a near mountain.

 

“I have never seen a high dragon before,” Leliana said softly. “I bet it is as magnificent as it is dangerous.”

 

The two women were the last to enter. Jannasilane was quiet; she didn’t join in the chatter about the building or what they might find. She felt a nebulous foreboding and already couldn’t wait to be done with their business so they could leave; at the same time she dragged her steps in order to keep some distance between her and the others. She caught up with them as they were being questioned by The Guardian, some sort of spirit protecting the Urn of Sacred Ashes. “. . . you left your parents behind, knowing what sort of treatment they would receive from Arl Rendon Howe.”

 

“Do you think I have not replayed that moment often? Sometimes I think I could have persuaded Mother to come before Howe’s men found the pantry but I don’t know if I could have. I only know that if I didn’t escape I would have failed in my responsibilities to my family and country. Couslands have always done their duty; this was one of the last things my father said to me. I could not dishonor him.” Blake said no more, only his flared nostrils signaled his disquiet.

 

“Ah, so you try to learn from past mistakes,” the Guardian nodded his head. He turned to Alistair, “What about you, Alistair of the Grey Wardens? Duncan died on the battlefield at Ostagar without you at his side to stop the killing blow. You wonder, don’t you, if you should have died and not him?” Jannasilane glared at the spirit but didn’t say anything.

 

“I . . . yes, I have wondered. Everything would be better if he’d been saved and if I’d had the chance I would have done everything I could to save him. But,” he turned his gaze to the small woman at his side, “I no longer wish it had been me _instead_ of him. Because then I would have died without knowing the full richness and joy life has to offer. Nobody should die without a chance to experience that.” He reached for Jannasilane’s hand and smiled down at her.

 

The Guardian questioned Leliana about her vision and Zevran about a woman’s death before turning his attention to Jannasilane. He stared thoughtfully at her, “And now I turn to you, the youngest of the companions. Little one, you are so young and yet carry the burden of a legacy centuries old; a burden impossible to put down. You have a temper,” at this reminder Alistair unconsciously rubbed his nose, “do you regret the damage caused by this fiery disposition of yours? Do you consider that your burden would be easier if you had better control over your emotions?”

 

“Even the spirits remind me how short I am. I’m not some pint-sized pixie,” she muttered mutinously. “Yes, I have my regrets and some of them are because I lost my temper. That’s all I’m going to say about it,” she scowled at the Guardian. “What about you, spirit, do you ever regret the hurt caused by your questions? Reminding people about the pain they have endured, especially when they had no control over the cause?”

 

The Guardian raised an eyebrow but otherwise ignored her. “You may venture into the Gauntlet, pilgrims.”

 

“If, when we go to Orzammar, I’m shorter than some of the dwarves there I am going to be thoroughly miffed.”

 

“A miffed muffin, MiffMuffin, I shall be sure to call you that when you are angry,” Zevran teased.

 

“I like your ‘fiery disposition,’ mostly, “Alistair claimed and once again rubbed his nose, “But I think I’ll have to remember that, MiffMuffin I mean. Ha, try saying that three times fast.”

 

Leliana shook her head in mock reproof, “You are all incorrigible the way you tease her. But now I believe we have reached the first, or perhaps it is the second test.” Several spirits or ghosts lined the walls of a large room. Blake addressed the first one and they realized these were all questions or riddles about Andraste.

 

Leliana and Alistair were the most informed by virtue of their years with the Chantry. Zevran and Jannasilane moved ahead and watched and waited. Neither had any doubts that their friends would be unable to solve the puzzles. The Antivan watched the young woman next to him as she shifted nervously. “Does something bother the Pocket Goddess? I trust you are not still upset by the words of the spirit at the door.”

 

Jannasilane shook her head, “It’s not that. I don’t like this place; it feels like the Fade to me.”

 

“The presence of so many spirits, perhaps,” Zevran answered. He didn’t think that was the case when he studied her more closely. If he wasn’t mistaken there was a look in her eyes reminiscent of their encounter with the desire demon. _“I don’t like this at all. I hope we find these Ashes soon.”_

 

Finally the last riddle was answered correctly and all the spirits were gone, at least from this room. A door opened and a figure waited. It was Bryce Cousland. Jannasilane felt a strange mixture of pity and envy, _“It must be hard for my poor Blake, seeing his not-father, or his father-spirit, like this. Although maybe it’s nice to see him healthy instead of as Blake last saw him. I wish I could see my parents again even if only as a vision.”_

 

It grew harder for her to maintain control the deeper into the Gauntlet they went. _“I do not understand what is happening to me. It feels like the Beast but different. I do not wish to lose myself. Is this part of the test? The others do not appear to be struggling. Maker help me, please,”_ she prayed. It was actually a relief when they met and had to battle their doppelgangers; the fighting provided a temporary and partial outlet. As soon as it was over she was slammed and fell to her knees gasping. Leliana knelt down to see what was wrong with her friend.

 

Zevran watched the Wardens ahead of him and thought how very attractive the two of them were while he waited for the women to catch up. He turned around, alarmed, when he heard Pocket Goddess whisper in distress, “Don’t touch me! Don’t . . .” His eyes widened when he saw her cupping Leliana’s face and kissing her. From what he could tell the redhead seemed to be enjoying the contact though he wasn’t sure it was completely reciprocated. When Pocket Goddess looked at him her eyes pleaded for him to do something. He hurried to the Wardens, “My friends, we have a problem.” Fortunately he hid his amusement at the looks on their faces when they saw the scene behind him. He also noticed with interest the glimmer of desire behind the alarm in the templar’s gaze. He stopped them from going forward. “Do not touch her, Wardens. I heard her tell the lovely Leliana the same thing and now they are as you see.”

 

The three men stared at the two women and tried to figure out what to do. Neither lady was paying any attention to the men even though neither were what could be called exhibitionists. Jannasilane might be given to spontaneous displays of affections but this was totally different. “They are a pretty picture but how do we stop it before they go too far?” Blake asked.

 

“Earlier she said she did not like this place; it felt too much like the Fade. When I looked in her eyes I saw a hint of how she was affected by that Desire Demon in the Tower. She was merely uncomfortable and eager to leave. This feeling must have grown stronger as we ventured forward.”

 

Alistair couldn’t say anything. He tried to think but the sight of his Jannasilane in the arms of another woman was more arousing than he would ever have imagined. He was afraid if he spoke he might give himself away.

 

“The Fade?” Blake looked sharply at Zevran. “When I found her she was practically hugging a lyrium growth. She looked happy but I don’t think it was like this. If they built this temple in the middle of a lyrium vein . . .” He tried to remember something Wynne told him about lyrium, “Wynne said Fade lyrium is different. I know Package was bothered by the desire demon, maybe the lyrium here has the same effect?” He looked at Alistair then.

 

Alistair nodded his head, “That . . . that makes sense.” He understood what Blake was saying, that the lyrium might be affecting his Jannasilane this way because of the Need. “Then let me try to cleanse the area around them. I think it will be safer if you two get ready to pull Leliana away and try not to touch Jannasilane. She’s going to be upset enough because of Leliana; I don’t want her to feel worse because you also become embroiled.” The other two agreed and went to stand on either side of the redhead.

 

With one last look at the two women caressing each other Alistair closed his eyes. Partly it was to not distract himself but mostly it was to try and feel the energy. _“Okay, I can do this. Interesting, it’s a lot like the magical energy around a mage . . . oooh, that’s different.”_ He mentally staggered under the wave of desire that swamped the area, _“Is it because we’re involved, I’m a Warden or maybe because I’m a templar?”_ He opened his eyes briefly and saw that Blake and Zevran were unaffected. _“OK, not a Warden thing.”_ He started to collect his will and monitored the energy cycle, judging the ebb and flow and timed his cleansing to the next low. “Now!” he commanded. The rogues quickly grabbed Leliana by the shoulders and pulled her away from Jannasilane and then let her go.

 

Once she was not touching Jannasilane Leliana quickly came to her senses, “What happened? I was . . . oh, how embarrassing.”

 

Blake quickly reassured her, “It’s not your fault. We think this temple is built into a lyrium vein and I know from the Circle that Package is unusually affected by the stuff.”

 

“Yes, poor Minit has been uneasy since we stepped inside. Fortunately Alistair was here. His skills as a templar were quite useful in disrupting things long enough for us to pull you apart. Although I do think he found the sight of the two of you intriguing. It is a good thing he did not become a templar for I believe inside the man lies quite the sensualist. Not a desirable trait for a career in the Chantry.”

 

On the other side of the room Alistair was talking quietly to a mortified Jannasilane. “It isn’t your fault, my love. We think we’re surrounded by lyrium and that’s why you were affected so badly. Your, um, your sense of desire is already . . . well there’s the whole Need thing . . . so you were especially vulnerable.” He couldn’t help stuttering when he spoke of such an intimate subject.

 

“But, but the Need doesn’t make other Wardens desire me like this did Leliana. I attacked her,” she whispered in horror at what she had done to her friend. She was almost in tears.

 

Alistair blinked, “Um, you didn’t know? You know how Blake prefers men, right?” Jannasilane nodded, eyebrows furrowed as she wondered why he was talking about Blake. “Well, I don’t know if she _prefers_ women but she does _like_ women in that, umm, in that way. You are incredibly sexy and attractive and exciting so I would be surprised if she didn’t notice.”

 

“Perhaps. Can we just go, please?” she asked plaintively.

 

Alistair sighed. He stood and offered his hand to help her up but wasn’t surprised when she refused. He stayed with her and did a mana cleanse every few minutes in an effort to keep her from being overwhelmed by the lyrium again. “Two more tests to go; I wonder what form they’ll take. I rather liked the riddles but fighting myself? Not so much.”

 

“Symbolically defeating the worst part of you is a feature in many stories and legends of heroes on quests of great importance. I think it is a way of demonstrating your strength of character and worthiness. Looking inside for your own flaws is not always easy and rarely pleasant. I remember a street fair Lady Cecile wanted to attend, there were jugglers and dancers as well as vendors selling everything from kitchen utensils to hair ribbons to sticky sweets. It was so exciting; I was still young enough to be enthralled by the colors and the movement. We came upon a play, I do not know the title, already well past the beginning and there was one man on stage. He waved his sword in the air as if fighting an invisible foe; from the few words and shouts he let fall it became clear he was trying to overcome his baser nature. We stayed only short time after his victory but that scene is still vivid in my memory,” Leliana smiled as she remembered the kindness of the elderly lady after her mother died.

 

“I’ve never been to a fair. Is it like the Denerim marketplace?” Jannasilane was relieved to talk about something far removed from what she considered her personal failure.

 

“I’ll take you to one and you can see for yourself,” Alistair promised. “But I think we will have to wait until after the Blight. Somehow I doubt anybody is thinking of street fairs these days.” They continued down the narrow corridor until they reached a large round room with the middle floor missing. “This is different. Look at all the plates around the edge of the opening.”

 

“I love puzzles,” Leliana chimed.

 

When Blake cautiously stepped on one of the plates a shimmery piece of a bridge appeared. “Looks like we have to work together to build a way across, try the other plates.” They tried different combinations but could never get the entire bridge to appear.

 

The next time the first segment became solid Jannasilane stepped on it. “Maybe we need to build this crossway one piece at a time.”

 

“Then I should go first. As the leader it is up to me to take the risks.”

 

She shook her head, “I am here now. I have the utmost faith that you and my Ali will make sure I get across safely, as will Leliana and Zevran.”

 

“I have faith in my friends, faith that one day they will stab me in the back,” Zevran muttered though he was determined to see she did not suffer any harm. “Since Alistair and Blake have solidified the first step why don’t we work to make the next piece of the puzzle my lovely Leliana?”

 

“I think it is a good thing we tested different plates for this bridge puzzle of faith. Now, if I remember correctly stepping on this might show us the next piece.” Her eyes gleamed when she was proved correct.

 

Zevran stepped on a plate he thought would work but it didn’t, “Hmm, I was sure this was the one.” He proceeded to test all the remaining plates but the second bridge segment never solidified.

 

Alistair felt a trickle of cold sweat down his back. He swallowed, “this is a test of faith, right? Then either Blake or I need to move to create the next step.” He looked back and forth between Jannasilane and Blake. He could tell his fellow Warden was also worried but the woman he loved was completely calm. He tried to visualize all their movements and saw the others concentrating as they did the same. Finally he spoke, “I think I’m the one who needs to move.” Hesitantly the others agreed. The next step was the hardest one he had ever taken and he breathed a quick prayer that the bridge holding his Jannasilane was still there. Quickly he moved around to the next plate and the second piece solidified. When Jannasilane stepped on it the first one vanished behind her. They were committed now.

 

After what seemed like hours Jannasilane was across. As soon as she stepped on the other side of the opening the entire bridge became a solid structure. One at a time they joined her. “Andraste favored only the clever, it seems,” Alistair muttered. He grabbed her hand whether she wanted him to or not. He needed the contact. “Let’s hope the last test is not so nerve-wracking.”

 

“Amen to that,” Blake agreed and once again led the way. This last corridor was not as long as the previous ones and at the end they could see a flickering light. They stepped inside a large, beautiful room. In front of them was an ornate altar, behind that a stream of fire and beyond that a grand staircase leading to a statue and . . .

 

Alistair was the first to be able to speak, "By the Maker, it's... it's the Urn of Sacred Ashes! That's it! That's really it!"

 

Zevran gawked, "Mother of Mercy! It... It is real!"

 

“I wasn’t sure it existed,” Blake shook his head in awe. “I agreed to search for the Urn mostly for Eamon’s or Teagan’s good will and cooperation for our efforts. Then when we found out what was happening to the knights of Redcliffe . . . stopping their slaughter was a worthy enough goal but to really see it . . . well.”

 

“I feel so small in comparison,” Jannasilane’s eyes were wide with wonder.

 

Leliana blinked and then giggled. Zevran snorted in amusement. Blake coughed in disbelief. Alistair looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “My love, you _are_ small,” he said drily.

 

Jannasilane scowled back at him, “I know you are all quite willing to tell me this. But I don’t _feel_ small. But this is much bigger than any of us, even you my giant Ali.”

 

Blake was smiling as he studied the altar. He was relieved that Package seemed to be recovering. He looked more closely at the words engraved on the altar and then the flames barring the way. _”Aha, remove all worldly possessions and cleanse ourselves in the flames. Got it,”_ he began removing his armor and placing each piece of equipment on the altar. “Time to get naked, boys and girls. We have a fire to cross.”

 

“N-n-naked? Are you sure?” Alistair squeaked. Blake pointed to the inscription and watched Alistair’s face as he came to the same conclusion. “Looks like you’re correct.” He turned to Jannasilane and was surprised to see she was already mostly undressed.

 

She blushed but faced him squarely, “Everyone here has already seen me without clothes. I do not bathe with them on I assure you,” she reminded him of the occasions when time was short and the women bathed together in whatever stream was near. She finished undressing and started helping him with his heavy armor. They joined the others and as one the five of them crossed the flames.

 

The Guardian awaited them on the other side, “You have proven yourselves worthy, pilgrims. Behold the Ashes of Andraste.” He restored their clothing to them and vanished. Slowly, reverently they climbed the steps to the Urn.

 

"I never dreamed I would ever lay my eyes on the Urn of Sacred Ashes... I... I have no words to express--"

 

"I didn't think anyone could succeed in finding Andraste's final resting place... but here... here She is."

 

Carefully Blake removed a small pinch of the Ashes and placed it in a small bag he carried solely for that purpose. He stared at the Urn for a moment before turning and descending the staircase. No one spoke a word as they left Andraste’s temple.

 


	42. Something Wild Unleashed

As soon as they were outside Jannasilane took a deep breath of the non-lyrium tainted mountain air. “It is good we found the Ashes for your Arl Eamon but I am very happy to be outside of that place. I feel much clearer,” she stated. She was careful not to look at Leliana. She knew she owed the other woman an apology but preferred to wait until they were alone. Maybe by then she would know what to say. Jannasilane walked ahead of the others as they moved from the shadow of the temple to the open path. Once again she felt that stirring inside her and now she knew it wasn’t the lyrium. She looked up into the sky and saw the dragon circling before slowly descending to perch on the cliff. Once it was near enough for her to see the dragon’s eyes watching her something primal, atavistic was unlocked and she roared out a challenge which was answered by the dragon’s bugle.

 

Alistair’s heart stopped. He caught up to her and blinked at the change in her. Her eyes were glittering and swirling rapidly with the light of battle. A small, feral smile shaped her lips while she watched the dragon thrust from its perch. Alistair wasn’t sure she was even aware of him until she looked at him and grinned, “This will be fun.” With that she leaped to confront the beast.

 

“Maker help us all,” Alistair swallowed back his terror and ran forward with shield and sword to do battle.

 

Grimly Blake, Leliana and Zevran started a barrage of arrows. Their task was made more difficult by the speed of Jannasilane’s movements. She was moving faster than they had ever seen her. “She’s moving to the head! Direct your arrows to wings and hindquarters,” Zevran shouted when she started climbing the back of the dragon. _“Braska, my eyes must deceive me, it looks like she is toying with the creature,”_ he was alarmed, angry, and admiring of her bravado all at the same time.

 

“She is crooning to the dragon, taunting it so Alistair does not get hurt,” Leliana stated, trying to remain calm and focused through fear for her friends.

 

Blake noticed this as well, “At least she shows some consideration. When this is over . . .” he warned through gritted teeth. They separated so they could attack from different angles.

 

Jannasilane felt power surging through her as she fought. The dragon was tiring. Instinct had her driving her dagger through the eye of the beast and hanging on, using her weight to try and bring the head down. She shouted to Alistair, “Ali, the neck!” With one great swing Alistair cut through the neck and jumped back from the dragon’s death throes.

 

Alistair stood up slowly and looked around. Zevran and Leliana were quietly looting the body; Jannasilane was some ways down the hill trying to pull her dagger out of the dragon’s head. Even as cold anger filled him he marveled at the amount of stuff the rogues were finding, _“How did it even manage to fly?”_ He found Blake searching for something and intercepted him when he saw Jannasilane and started walking in that direction. “I’ll take it from here,” he said calmly and deliberately.

 

Blake studied his friend; he felt the anger emanating from the warrior. “Very well, we’ll give Brother Genitive the news,” he said before walking away. He stopped. He looked over his shoulder, “Alistair, give her a few licks from me, will you?” and returned to the dragon’s body. Very quickly they finished stripping anything useful. Blake even took some dragon scales, he thought they might make a good armor for Alistair and after today he felt nobody deserved it more. With few words he directed Leliana and Zevran to the ruined temple where Wynne and the brother waited. Leliana started to protest leaving without her friend but he silenced her with a glare. They were almost at the entrance when they heard a loud thwack followed by a cry. Blake smiled with satisfaction and the three of them entered the ruin and could hear no more.

 

When Blake reached the dragon Alistair turned back to Jannasilane and stalked towards her. She finally pulled her dagger out after a great deal of effort; the fall caused it to be firmly embedded in the skull. The sun was behind him and she didn’t see the expression on his face when she leapt into his arms and kissed him. He couldn’t help responding with bruising kisses of his own, so great was his relief that she was unharmed. “That was so exciting, my Ali.”

 

Her words brought his anger back to the fore and he bit her lip. He set her down with a thud and began shaking her by the shoulders, “Are you out of your mind?!” he snarled. “You put all of us at risk on a, a whim. If you died . . .” he couldn’t speak past that. He closed his eyes and didn’t move or let her go.

 

Tentatively she tried to calm him, “But we are all unharmed, Alistair, my sweet Ali.”

 

His nostrils flared and he opened his eyes. His gaze burned into hers, “You. Don’t. Get. It.” Later he would not be able to decide if he was influenced by Blake and Zevran or not when he hauled her over to a boulder where he could sit down and place her over his knee. He didn’t hesitate to bring his hand down hard on her rear as she squirmed. Her cry of pain and outrage didn’t stop him from smacking her again. He frowned, dissatisfied with the result. He wanted to feel her flesh burn under his hand. He held her down and clumsily reached around her to unbuckle her belted skirt and let it fall to the ground. He used her own dagger to slice through her smalls and the laces on one side of her tunic.

 

She started when she felt the cold metal of his gauntlets baring her bottom to his gaze and the brisk mountain air. If she didn’t feel humiliated before she did then; she didn’t know they were alone on the mountain. She refused to cry out when he began spanking her again even though the pain was sharper and more personal flesh to flesh. She couldn’t hold out forever and began crying. At the same time a part of her was excited by his domination.

 

Alistair stared at her lovely rounded rear exposed to him. Faint pink marks showed where he’d hit her before. This time when he brought his hand down smartly on her bottom he could feel the warmth rising when she jumped in pain. He traced the outline of his fingers causing her to hiss. He smiled grimly and began spanking her in earnest. He didn’t stop until every inch of her ass and the backs of her upper thighs were bright red and he could no longer tell where one blow ended and the next began. His chest was heaving as he bent over her and placed feather light kisses on that red, red flesh. Jannasilane whimpered and squirmed against him. The touch of his lips was so much more intense than if he hadn’t laid a hand on her; the pain a counterpoint to unexpected pleasure. She could feel his smile against her skin before he rubbed his chin against her flesh, the roughness of his unshaven face exciting the nerve endings further.

 

When he helped her sit up the cool metal, even rough as it was, of his armor was welcome on her bare skin. She turned so she was facing him and straddling his thigh. His hands surrounded her waist. She cupped his face in her hands and stroked his cheeks with her thumb. Somberly he tracked the trails of her tears with his eyes. He shuddered, “Do you know what it would have done to me if you died? It was bad enough when you stepped on the bridge; somebody had to do it. But the dragon? You challenged a high dragon. You put yourself at risk unnecessarily and all of us with you. We could have let it be. Why? And why didn’t you say something about the Gauntlet feeling like the Fade earlier? I might have been able to help you before you and Leliana-”

 

She shushed him with a kiss. “I am so sorry, my Ali. I never wanted to hurt you. I think perhaps pride is another of my failings, along with temper. I hoped to get through the Gauntlet without troubling you. If Leliana hadn’t touched me I might have succeeded but I realize now I was distracting myself and this could have endangered us all.” She leaned her forehead against his and was relieved to feel him stroking her back like he usually did. It was a bit odd, one gauntlet on and one off but she didn’t mind. “I am not sure how to explain the dragon. I felt something inside earlier but it was so . . . so faint I could ignore it, like a far off echo which could easily have been explained by the smell of dragonlings, the reavers, or even the lyrium. But after the Ashes, when we stepped outside, the dragon was much closer than before and the something unlocked and, and this knowledge or instinct filled me, that this is what I was born to do. Next thing I knew I was running to meet it. Excitement, exhilaration, power; I felt all of these things and when the battle was over so very, very sexy. I wanted to do nothing but crawl all over you,” Jannasilane blushed and shivered as she admitted her desire.

 

“And instead I hurt you. I wanted to punish you,” he grimaced. “That doesn’t say much for me, does it? I get angry and, even if it was justified, it doesn’t mean that I get to hit you.”

 

“You were right to be angry. If my actions caused you to be hurt or killed by that dragon . . . I do not know what I would have done. Something in me would have died this I know in my heart,” she shrugged shakily. “You spanked me. I was surprised and humiliated until I realized we were alone. I knew you would not go beyond that. You would never truly hurt me.”

 

“I made you cry,” Alistair said stubbornly, not ready to believe she didn’t seem to mind.

 

She waved that aside and nibbled his ear, “You’ve bitten me before and caused small bruises. I kind of liked you being so out of control and dominating. This is truth. I could feel your kisses so much more intensely, even where your lips were chapped from the wind. I am no fragile flower. The touch of your fingers, so gentle after the pain, I did not expect to enjoy your touching me but I do. If I thought you were capable of more I do not think I would . . .” her voice trailed off as she struggled to explain.

 

He held her back so he could look into her eyes, “You really mean it.” He lovingly fondled the curves he so recently abused and watched the desire wash over her face. He felt his own desire rise, desire with a dark edge, and buried his hands in her hair before kissing her. Willingly she opened her mouth to his demands and thrilled to his caresses. “I wish I could bury myself in you here and now,” he smiled wolfishly when she quivered against him, “but the others are waiting for us. Time to go.” He held up the remains of her smalls with a rueful expression, “Sorry about this and your tunic.” He tied it as much as possible and kissed her exposed flesh before holding the rest of the tunic in place while she adjusted her skirtpiece. She seemed a little jumpy when they began walking. “Are you okay?” he asked doubtfully.

 

She blushed and had a hard time looking him in the eye, “It is just that, when the f-fringe rubs against me I feel your hands on me and I want more.” Alistair inhaled sharply. He didn’t know how he would be able to wait until they were alone in their tent.

 

They wended their way through the ruins, each deep in their own thoughts.  “Do you think attacking the dragon had something to do with you being a Griffonsong? Maybe that’s one way they helped the Wardens, holding the head down I mean,” Alistair finally broke the silence.

 

“I have been wondering the same. It makes sense, though Mother said nothing in her journal.”

 

“She probably never faced a bunch of dragons before. Most people never see one their whole lives,” he answered drily. “Do you mind if I read it sometime? Her journal?”

 

Jannasilane shook her head, “You may not understand much of it. Mother was rather obscure in many of her references.”

 

“I suppose she had to be, just in case somebody else found it,” Alistair tried to imagine how difficult it would be to keep their legacy secret from the world yet maintain a record for future generations. From what little he’d seen it wasn’t encrypted.

 

Blake had sent the others, except Zevran, back to Haven. He wanted time to think and he wanted some time alone with the elf. Andraste knew it was hard to be alone at camp. The tents were nice enough, better than being in the open, but only gave the illusion of privacy. He smiled as he remembered Brother Genitivi’s excitement. He wanted to return immediately and tell the Chantry but Wynne nagged him into agreeing to stay with them until they were off the mountain. She would use that time to heal him as much as possible.

 

“What has you smiling so handsomely, my dear Warden?” Zevran purred.

 

“Genitivi was as excited as a child on Feast day, wasn’t he? By the time he reaches Denerim he’ll have an entire plan for pilgrims to seek the Urn.”

 

“Humph, he should charge admission. That should fill the Chantry’s coffers,” Zevran was pragmatic. He moved closer to the Warden, every movement a symphony of sinuousness. “It has been a long day and you are looking tired. Perhaps when we are back in camp I could offer you a massage such as can only be learned in an Antivan whorehouse?”

 

Blake grinned and didn’t bother to hide his desire, “That sounds good to me.”

 

“And if it should lead to more than that?” Zevran held his breath.

 

“We’re both clever enough to think of something,” Blake bent forward so he could nibble the elf’s sensitive ear.

 

“That we are, oh handsome leader of men, that we are,” Zevran turned his head so he could finally taste the lips of the man of whom he’d been dreaming for so long. He allowed Blake to lean him against the wall and press against him, his arousal apparent. When he moved his hips just so Blake groaned and he became more demanding. 

 

Blake tangled his hands in Zevran’s hair, pulling it to the point of pain. Finally he stopped kissing the smaller man, “I have thought of touching you, pounding into you for so long, exploring every line of every tattoo and discovering what pleases you.” His breathing was harsh as he tried to control himself. He looked into Zevran’s eyes, amber heat met silver desire and his nostrils flared. Finally he pulled away to their mutual disappointment, “I don’t want the first time to be some rushed business while we wait for Alistair and Package.”

 

“Perhaps they would like to join us,” Zevran teased.

 

Blake shook his head, smirking, “I have imagined it but I don’t know that they would agree. Tonight I want to have my cake and eat it too, not share it even with two good friends.”

 

Zevran raised an eyebrow, “Do you not already share _everything?_ ” he was a bit surprised that he still felt rancor at the thought of the three of them together though he tried not to show it.

 

“You’ve been listening to Morrigan,” Blake said. He traced the inked lines on the Antivan’s face with eyes and finger. He didn’t want to look in Zevran’s stare just then. “I won’t deny there have been . . . occasions for reasons I am not free to divulge . . . occasions when the three of us . . . between he and I there has been nothing. Nor can I promise that there might not be a reoccurrence. I can tell you we would prefer that events . . .” He closed his eyes and shuddered when Zevran slowly took his finger in his mouth and began sucking, a promise of things to come.

 

Zevran didn’t remove it when he began speaking, “Forget I asked, my dear Warden.” He circled Blake’s finger teasingly with his tongue, more than pleased when his actions elicited a groan from the larger man hovering over him. “I do not ask for more than you are willing to give.” He lightly bit down before slipping away.

 

“By Andraste’s bloomers you have a wicked tongue, Zevran Arainai,” Blake growled. His eyes were hooded when he stared at the other man, “I trust your wickedness does not end there.” Zevran smirked and didn’t answer though his gaze promised much.

 

They waited side by side. Each could feel the heat and smell the desire emanating from the other. They said nothing more until they finally saw Alistair and Jannasilane at the top of the stairs on the far end of the hall. “Do you think our now-only-mostly-innocent young templar was able to properly chastise the fearless pocket goddess at his side?”

 

“I damn well hope so,” Blake said, his anger returning. “He wasn’t that fierce when he had you by the throat. She deserves all the thrashing she got and then some for her recklessness.”

 

“I do not like to admit the fear I felt when she ran towards the beast, but didn’t she look magnificent? Truly she was a goddess in that moment, her hair flying in the air around her and her eyes gleaming in anticipation of victory. Never once did she doubt the outcome. Sexy, wild . . . quite the sight,” Zevran sighed dramatically, pleased to see the anger ebbing from the Warden.

 

Blake stared at her as they approached his arms akimbo; he missed nothing as he perused her and hid his amusement at the lack of lacing. “Let’s go. The others are probably in Haven by now.” He had to bite his tongue when Alistair and Package blushed bright red. Alistair fell into step beside him on the descent to the village. Blake peered sideways, “Is our Package properly disciplined?” He smirked when Alistair flushed and raised an eyebrow when he saw the glimmers of desire behind the embarrassment. “I see you enjoyed yourself.”

 

“Perhaps,” Alistair muttered, “not sure how I feel about that.” He cleared his throat and spoke more clearly, “We have a theory we’d like to discuss later.”

 

“Not tonight,” Blake replied hastily.

 

Alistair shook his head and smiled secretively, “No, not tonight.” As one they turned to look back at the two people talking behind them.

 

“You quite frightened us, bellissima,” Zevran wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He gave her a quick kiss on her temple at the same time he swatted her rear. When she jumped he chuckled, “Ah, I see the compassionate young templar didn’t stop with one stroke. I am not sure I believed he had it in him. Was it _all_ punishment?” he asked slyly. He then laughed outright at her red cheeks and attempts to hide her expression, “This is where I say ‘I told you so;’ I told you that you might enjoy a little spanking and so you did.”

 

Jannasilane tried to glare at him, “You are a wicked man.” Just then Alistair and Blake looked back at them. The same desire on Alistair’s face when he looked at her was on Blake’s as he glanced at Zevran. “Huh, you and my Blake deserve each other. One is as bad as the other.”

 

Zevran leered playfully, “Oh, I am sure I am worse, much worse, my dear. Now, if you and your young man are going to indulge in these games you should know the importance of safe words.” By the time they reached Haven her face was burning as much as Alistair’s ever did.


	43. Apologies

Jannasilane walked nervously back and forth by the stream as she waited for Leliana. She needed to apologize for her actions in the Gauntlet but it was hardly something she wanted to discuss where others might hear, especially Morrigan. She smiled a little ruefully, _“I might have had an opportunity that first night but my Ali was very demanding. He rushed me inside as soon as the tents were up, he was so intense. I suppose we both were still riding that edge of darkness but afterwards, when we were calmer, it didn’t feel right. Somehow I do not think we will be making use of Zevran’s advice. It is a good thing I did not tell Ali all Zevran said. It was quite fun making him turn redder and redder; perhaps if he gets angry with me I will tell him more so I can watch him blush. He is so cute when he blushes.”_ She didn’t hear Leliana’s approach and whirled around when the redhead tapped her shoulder, “Leliana, you startled me. You know I hate it when you sneak up on me like that.”

 

“Which is why I do it, of course,” Leliana couldn’t help laughing at her friend’s scowling expression. “What did you wish to say that you couldn’t say in camp?” She was glad they had this opportunity to talk away from everybody so she could apologize to her friend. She owed more than one person an apology and it was time to begin.

 

“I’m so sorry, Leliana, about what happened on the way to the Urn. I shouldn’t have attacked you . . . f-forced myself on you,” Jannasilane was actually wringing her hands in distress and wouldn’t look at her.

 

“This has been bothering you this whole time? You apologized to me once. Zevran and Blake told me about the desire demon and Blake said in the Fade that he didn’t like the effect lyrium had on you. I never blamed you,” she scolded with affection. “You took me by surprise but I _think_ I could have gotten away from you.” She sighed at the look of surprise on her young friend’s face, “I think that perhaps _I_ owe _you_ an apology.” She sat on a boulder by the stream and stared into the rippling current until Jannasilane settled beside her. “I envy you, what you have with your Alistair. I had that once, or thought I did. For a few minutes I could pretend I was with Marjolaine and loved. It was nice even though I knew it was a lie, even about Marjolaine loving me. You are a beautiful woman and my friend. I know that you do not care for me as more than such,” she added when Jannasilane moved restlessly beside her. “And even though I find you quite attractive I think of you as a friend and sister, nothing more.”

 

Jannasilane rested her head on Leliana’s shoulder, “I’m sorry you’ve been lonely, Leli. I was afraid I might have lost your friendship because of my actions and this would sadden me. When my parents,” her breath hitched slightly, “when my parents died I lost my family. I like to think they would be happy I found a new one, including a sister.”

 

The two women began gathering what herbs and edible plants they could find, content in the solidity of their friendship. Sometimes they spoke but mostly they were silent. When Blake and Alistair found them they were sitting arm in arm by the stream quietly chatting. “Give you any ideas, Alistair?” Blake teased his friend.

 

“Have I mentioned that I hate you?” Alistair growled but kept his gaze on the pretty picture in front of them. Not even the Archdemon would get him to admit he’d been thinking of the two women together while he watched before joining them. Nor would he admit that he was considering talking to Jannasilane about exploring some options at The Pearl. _“Life now is very different from life in the Chantry,”_ he mused. _“Thank the Maker for that.”_ He stepped forward and kissed Jannasilane on the cheek, “Hello, my love, we were told to get firewood and the mood Morrigan is in I’m not about to disobey. Now that my life includes a precious jewel I don’t want to be turned into a toad.” He smiled at Leliana, “The two of you seem happy enough, I gather all is well?” he looked between the two women. He knew Jannasilane had been feeling miserable about the rift between them and was pleased that they had made amends. His Jannasilane was a passionate woman and did not find it easy to hide her feelings, especially from him.

 

“Yes, Alistair, if you are referring to the Gauntlet then the answer is yes,” Leliana smiled. If Alistair had been looking at her he might have noticed the twinkle of mischief appearing in her eyes. He didn’t and nearly choked at her next words, “A little bird told me that you enjoyed what you saw. I am afraid to disappoint you my friend but fond of you and Jannasilane as I am I am still not willing to be a party to, well, let’s just call it casual experimentation.” She stood then and strolled over to Blake.

 

“Remind me to kill Zevran when I get the chance,” Alistair knew he was blushing. His cheeks practically burned when Jannasilane stared at him, her beautiful eyes full of questions.

 

Jannasilane brought her face to his and whispered softly, “This is true, my Ali? Y-you liked watching us k-kiss and t-t-touch each other?” He didn’t answer directly but the growing desire she saw was answer enough. “Hmmm, if you wish we can d-discuss this later, Ali.”

 

He grinned then, “Well, that will certainly give me something pleasant to think about while I traipse through the woods gathering wood for the witch.” He stood and offered his hand to help her to her feet. A brief caress of her hair and he was gone, whistling cheerfully if tunelessly.

 

Jannasilane watched him go with a smile and a slight frown. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this new bit of information but, _“Fair is fair. My Ali has had to make many sacrifices for me so perhaps I should be willing to try this for him. We will see.”_ She came out of her reverie to hear Leliana talking to Blake.

 

“. . . I lied to you, you know, about why I was in the Chantry.” Jannasilane started to leave but Leliana stopped her, “No, please stay. You are my friend and deserve to know the truth; I wasn’t there just because I wanted safe harbor from the storm.”

 

“It was pretty obvious you weren’t just some innocent Chantry sister but as long as your reasons don’t affect our mission I had no reason to pry,” Blake responded, his tone dry as dust.

 

“This is truth, Leli, I knew you did not tell us everything but I sensed no big deceit in your words,” Jannasilane added.

 

Leliana blinked in surprise at their generosity, “Now I feel worse about not telling you the truth earlier. In Orlais I was a bard and my bard master was a woman named Marjolaine. Yes,” she looked at Jannasilane directly, “the same woman I spoke of before. Here the terms bard and minstrel are used interchangeably but in Orlais not understanding the difference can cost you your life and worse, your reputation. Bards are minstrels and more. They are spies, thieves and can even be assassins on behalf one of the noble houses. In Orlais you are not permitted to openly display dislike or rivalry so the nobles wear false faces in public and scheme in private, it is all a great game to them and it is important to play the game well. I was on a mission to steal some papers from a man. I found them.”

 

“They were important?” Jannasilane asked quietly.

 

“Very. Taking them would be an act of treason,” the bard frowned at the memory.

 

“Isn’t that what bards do?” Blake shrugged negligently.

 

Leliana looked at him, “Well, yes, some do. But we had always confined ourselves to activities between the nobles. Skilled bards can do quite well for themselves without the increased risk of spying against Orlais. I went to Marjolaine and begged her not to do this thing; that I feared for her safety. She told me they were old papers which could be used against her and she would destroy them. I loved her, and I believed her. I thought she loved me but I was wrong. She betrayed me. The guards showed me the documents and I saw they had been altered to implicate _me_ and not her. They did . . . terrible things,” her voice was rough in remembered distress.

 

“I am so sorry, Leliana,” Jannasilane hugged her friend.

 

Leliana returned the embrace, accepting the comfort offered. “It was a traitor’s death they planned for me.” She smiled sadly, “my bard training came in useful and I was able to escape. Eventually I found my way to Lothering and took sanctuary in the Chantry. There I found peace and the Maker.”

 

Blake frowned, “Is there anything else? Are your enemies likely to interfere in our efforts?”

 

“I have seen no signs of them. This was a few years ago and I am sure more important things have occurred to occupy their energies.”

 

His face cleared, “Good. I better catch up to Alistair. I don’t want Package snuggling up to a giant toad, though I doubt Morrigan will actually turn him into one. Although,” he smiled devilishly, “I wouldn’t put it past her to do something if he annoys her enough. She hasn’t liked him from the beginning and he has a knack for annoying her without trying,” He left them to catch up to Alistair.

 

“I’ll feed her to the fishes if she hurts my Ali,” Jannasilane scowled.

 

Leliana choked back a laugh, “You’ve been reading too many of Wynne’s novels. She has a surprising taste for lurid and overblown fiction for one who looks so proper. Speaking of fish, why don’t we try to catch some for dinner? You move quickly and have very good reflexes; I believe you would do well with a spear,” Leliana said and began searching for the right size stick or sapling.

 

The fish they caught was a welcome addition to dinner that night. “This is a meal such as we have in Seheron. I had almost forgotten the taste of roasted fish. My thanks,” Sten commented to the surprise of all. He did not acknowledge their surprise in any way and continued calmly eating the fish. By tacit agreement the others let him have as much as he liked. He restrained himself from eating it all, _“An unexpected courtesy. Even more unexpected is they said nothing; not even the witch creature who appears to seek out ways to exercise her sarcasm and dubious wit against others. I am glad the Arishok only asked me to find out about the Blight and not to try and understand the reasoning of humans, particularly Fereldans. I fear my mission would be certain failure otherwise.”_

 

Alistair and Jannasilane tidied up camp and headed to their tent. Alistair frowned when they got closer, “Is that . . . why is Blake’s shirt hanging outside the tent and why,” he sniffed it, perplexed,” why does it smell faintly of fish?”

 

She looked up at him, chewing her bottom lip worriedly, “It still smells of fish? We needed something to carry the cleaned fish we caught and Blake’s shirt was the first thing I found. I rinsed it out afterward and hung it up to dry. Maybe the smell will go away if we leave it outside some more?” she asked hopefully.

 

“Maybe,” Alistair answered doubtfully. “He’ll probably spend time with Zevran. It might be dry and fresher smelling by then. No use worrying about it now. And I believe we have other things we can discuss or do to pass the time,” he waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer and ushered her inside while she snickered.

 

Inside Zevran’s tent the two men were already naked. Zevran reclined against Blake while he ran his fingers through his hair or traced one of his many tattoos. Neither was in a particular hurry, unlike the first time they were together. Blake smiled ruefully, remembering. _“I was so hard by the time we reached his tent the promised massage had to wait. It took all my patience just to make sure Zev was prepared. Fortunately he was as eager as I was.”_ He kissed the top of the assassins head, sniffing in the potent mix of sandalwood, cinnamon and Zevran.

 

“What are you thinking, oh mighty leader of men?” Zevran asked. He was surprised to find himself enjoying this rather peaceful interlude. He felt Blake’s grin.

 

“Just how passion overruled finesse our first time.”

 

“That was not such a bad thing as I recall,” Zevran purred in remembrance, his amber eyes glowed with warmth.

 

Blake nibbled his ear, causing shivers to course down his spine. “No,” he replied, “not a bad thing at all.” Delicately he traced the contours of Zevran’s ear before shifting so he could move his lips over those exquisite cheekbones, the sinuous lines of his tattoos and finally that smiling mouth. Zevran opened up so their tongues could play and explore the moist caverns. Their breathing became heavier. Blake moved so he could nibble the elf’s jaw, neck and shoulders. He placed bruising kisses on the lithe chest and rolled the small nipple around in his mouth before sucking. Zevran arched up against him and Blake sucked even harder while pinching the other one with his fingers. Zevran ran his hands up and down the larger rogue’s back and sides in hard, slow strokes which caused Blake to redouble his efforts.

 

_“The Warden has a very talented tongue; he could make a fortune if he were so inclined.”_ He gasped a little when the Warden moved down to circle his navel. _“Luckily for him I have more than a few moves of my own and very flexible toes.”_ He felt Blake smile against his stomach muscles when he began to caress the other man’s calf with his foot. When he began kneading the muscle with his toes Blake looked up and quirked an eyebrow at Zevran.

 

“Aren’t you the clever one?” he grinned wolfishly.

 

Zevran grasped his hair, “Your hair is almost long enough for me to wrap around my fingers.”

 

Blake bent down and slowly licked the tip of his erection before answering, “Why do think I’ve been letting it grow out?” He wrapped his mouth around the column of flesh begging for his attention. “I enjoy having my hair tugged while I taste another man,” his words were a bit muffled.

 

“I shall endeavor to remember that,” Zevran growled. He pinched the sensitive skin behind Blake’s knees between his toes.

 

“Definitely a clever, clever man,” Blake nuzzled Zevran’s balls, inhaling the musky scent before gently sucking them into his mouth and holding them. He allowed his teeth to lightly graze the delicate skin as he removed the balls from his mouth so he could slowly lick the tattoo stretching from Zevran’s base to his tip. Tonight he was determined to bring Zevran over before he took his own pleasure.

 

Zevran hissed in his breath when Blake lightly scritched the skin behind his sac. In his experience few bothered to explore that particular area between genitals and rear, the Pleasure Plain a delightful woman from Nevarra called it, and so failed to realize just how enjoyable he found it when caressed just so. He grew even harder and Blake began bobbing his head up and down, taking in a little more with each stroke. Zevran fought back the urge to thrust into that warm and skilled mouth. He knew if he did he would fall into the beckoning abyss and he wished to draw out the experience for both their enjoyment.  He just had the presence of mind to reach for a particular vial of oil and put it next to the Warden.

 

Blake got a firm grip on Zevran’s hips before beginning to suck hard. He swallowed the seed as it came, being careful not to let any dribble out. He shuddered to hear the Antivan cry out in ecstasy with the last drop spilled. He slowly fondled the softening member with his tongue as he eased away. He moved up to kiss those smiling lips and Zevran stretched against him, the friction causing Blake’s straining manhood to jerk. “You have neglected yourself, my dear Warden,” he bumped against the other man.

 

Blake grinned, “We can’t have that, can we? Turn over,” he commanded hoarsely. Willingly Zevran complied, touching as much of the other man in the process as he could. For just a minute Blake leaned on one arm and admired the elegant form lying beside him. He stroked Zevran like he would a cat and the elf reacted like one, purring and arching into his hand. “You remind me of these great golden cats I’ve read about: sleek, dangerous, elegant. Apparently somnolent one minute only to become a blur of deadly activity the next. Your blades are as lethal as their claws.” He reached for the oil and poured some into his hand, making sure his fingers were well slicked. He paused and sniffed, “Minty,” he commented and continued. He bent and kissed those shoulder blades, nibbling his way from one to the other while he began massaging the tight circle of muscle between those firm cheeks.

 

“I think you will find, Warden, that this particular oil will give both of us more enjoyment,” he lifted his rear in invitation, bringing his knees under him so Blake would have better access.

 

They both moaned when Blake slid one finger inside and back out, hooking it ever so slightly to hit the pleasure spot as he thrust it in and out. Blake added a second finger then a third, carefully stretching and preparing Zevran to receive him. “It is,” he growled, “surprisingly tingly.” He gasped at the sensation when he began coating his straining manhood, “I think I understand.” He carefully positioned it at the entrance and grabbed Zevran’s hips. Slowly he guided himself inside, savoring the feel of tight heat encasing his member bit by slow bit, Zevran’s oil creating little sparks which cascaded through his nerves. When he was fully buried he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Zevran deliberately moved against him, sparking more tingles. Blake hissed and tangled his hands in that golden hair and eased him up until the elf was leaning against him. He wrapped his arm around him, one hand fondling Zev’s nipples and the other his groin.

 

“Look over there,” he directed. He nibbled Zevran’s ears. “I want you to imagine a large mirror and we are both looking into it, watching as I take you. Watch our hands fondling you, stroking you, fueling your desire to the peak once more.” Slowly he started thrusting, moving in and out. He moaned, his breath hitched and he changed his rhythm. “I’m moving faster, focus on our hands, the difference in skin tones around your magnificent erection. Isn’t that a lovely sight?” He gave a hard push and stopped, briefly. Zevran moaned. “Reach back and wrap your hands behind my head, holding me close. Watch me watching the pleasure wash over you as you come into my hands.” With a few well-timed strokes he took Zevran over the edge once more. “That’s right, arch your back and let yourself go, watch your seed spurt into my hands and the air. Look at my face as I come close to my own completion. I’m grabbing your hips and am starting to pound into you. I’m close, can’t you see my concentration?” Zevran shivered at the words in his ear and the effects of the other man’s movements. “I want to taste your skin,” Blake bit the flesh between neck and shoulder, then began lightly sucking. “Mmmm, salt and spice. You are so tight and hot around me, soon I’m going to empty myself inside you. You feel full now and will feel even fuller before I’m done.” Blake groaned then. His breathing became harsh and uneven. He was trembling with the effort to stay in control for just a minute more and finally let himself go. He gripped Zevran’s hips so tight his fingers left bruises. He pushed forward and Zevran braced his arms on the ground to give Blake more resistance. He enjoyed the moment when the Warden lost control. Blake moved hard and fast and deep. He cried out when he finally came, barely having the presence of mind to not completely collapse on the smaller man. Instead he rolled them so they were in spooning position and he could continue slowly moving in and out with the aftershocks.

 

“I’m happy that you are of such an adventurous disposition, Warden,” Zevran purred. His arms were entwined with Blake’s around his waist. He could feel Blake calming and smiled to himself. “Handsome and desirable were quite evident. You have a quick mind and skillful tongue. But that you have such imagination is quite a bonus. What is your opinion of ropes and knots?” he asked playfully.

 

Blake chuckled and tightened his arms around the elf. He rubbed his face against Zevran’s hair and sighed contentedly, “So many possibilities, so little time.” It had been a long time since he’d felt so relaxed. He knew he would have to leave soon so he could sleep but the other man felt so good in his arms he wanted to enjoy it a bit longer. “I’m glad you're willing to stay with me for awhile, that this isn't a one time, or maybe I should say a three time thing.  He tried to stifle a yawn but knew he was unsuccessful when Zevran laughed softly.

 

"Let me make it simple for you, my dear Warden," Zevran struggled to put thoughts into words. That his desires and years of training put into practice conflicted with each other didn't make it easier for him to speak. He turned to face the other man, not resisting the urge to stroke the nicely muscled chest in front of him.  "I meant what I said before. I ask no more than you are willing to give.  I have enjoyed our time together but if it is your wish to end it now or next week, then so it shall be.”  He worked hard to keep his breathing even and his expression light. With a feigned air of nonchalance he traced the light sprinkling of hair on Blake’s chest which trickled down to his groin.    

 

_“Liar,”_ Blake thought. He decided not to challenge his lover however since he wasn’t sure how he felt. Instead he pretended to be amused, “What? No flowers or long protestations of everlasting love? I’m crushed,” he fluttered his eyelashes and was rewarded with quick grin. He ran his hand up and down the other’s lean form, “I can live with continuing as we are. So be it, until one of us is tired of the other we will enjoy each other’s company. I hope that day doesn’t come soon since there are still so many things we have yet to do,” he drawled, his voice husky with a tinge of wicked.

 

“That we do, my dear Warden, that we do,” Zevran’s accent was thicker than usual. He tangled his fingers in that thick dark hair and pulled Blake’s head down for a kiss. A short time later Blake sighed and began to get dressed. Zevran watched him with hooded eyes. He knew he shouldn’t feel irritated at the Warden’s leaving, especially after their recent discussion, but he didn’t like being left like this. Other lovers leaving when their activities were concluded never bothered him but this . . . “Blake, Warden, I know my tent is small but it is still large enough for both of us to sleep. You did just put a mirror in here, after all,” he jested.

 

Blake eyed the golden body displayed so temptingly and sighed with regret, “We would probably get distracted and I need sleep. I tend to be, well restless is as good a word as any and I don’t want to disturb you.”

 

“Perhaps you would sleep better after ‘exercise’ to relieve your restlessness,” Zevran spoke with all the honeyed seduction at his command. Blake hesitated but finally shook his head and left. Zevran looked around his small tent and felt bereft. In irritation both at himself and the Warden he finished cleaning up and setting things to rights. He crawled into his bedroll and couldn’t help wishing it was the dark Warden staving off the night chill instead of a pair of blankets.

 

Blake trudged back to his tent. He would rather have stayed but he wasn’t prepared to inflict his nightmares on anybody else. He smiled a little when he heard Alistair snoring. In the dim light he could see Package snuggled up against her warrior, his arms wrapped around her. He sighed and got under the covers. Maybe he would think of some way to explain to Zevran that wouldn’t betray any of Package’s secrets.


	44. Something to Think About

Once they were out of the mountains and on the road to Redcliffe they made good time. Blake continued to spend part of each night in Zevran’s tent. The two Wardens were leading the way and Morrigan found herself walking beside the assassin. She commended the elf on his cleverness, “That is wily of you, Zevran.”

 

“What is so wily of me, o magical temptress?”

 

“Getting in the good graces of the one who decides whether you live or die. Not to mention the one who can protect you against your former comrades,” she slanted her gaze sideways in his direction.

 

Zevran merely raised an eyebrow, “And I am supposed to believe you are here because of a... sense of patriotism, perhaps?”

 

She snorted, “Ha! Hardly that.”

 

“We all have our reasons for doing what we do. Mine happen to come with a set of strong hands,” he chuckled at her look of cynical amusement.

 

Blake and Alistair moved farther ahead so they could talk. “Tomorrow we’ll be in Redcliffe and see if the Ashes cure Arl Eamon,” Blake began. “You know he’s going to want to propose you as king since you are Maric’s son, don’t you?” Alistair nodded glumly. “I hate to tell you that he’s right. He may have a slightly better claim to the crown than Loghain, but not enough to sway many of the nobles. I daresay the fact his men weren’t at Ostagar will be used against him and I’m sure my family name is thoroughly blackened at the moment, so that leaves you to be the rallying point against Loghain.”

 

“I don’t want to be king but if putting me forward now makes it easier to build our army then I won’t argue. But I will **not** be king if it means losing my Janna.” Alistair scowled and then looked at Blake in consideration, “You know, you’re not bad looking.”

 

Blake blinked, he couldn’t help it. “You’re not thinking of hopping borders!” he exclaimed, “If you do I’ll lose my bet with Zevran.”

 

Alistair rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored him, “You’re also a Cousland, the highest noble family outside the Theirin line. You could marry Anora. That would satisfy everybody but Eamon. You would be a much better king; you know politics and how to rule and could certainly keep Anora in check. Think about it.”

 

“You’ve been hiding that devious mind. I didn’t know you had it in you, big guy. We have a long way to go before we have to make any decisions although I think you’re selling yourself short. Nice to know you’re more than a pretty face,” he teased. He laughed outright when Alistair blushed. Jannasilane joined them, “Package, I was just telling Alistair he is not simply a pretty face.”

 

Jannasilane looked at him in all seriousness, “No, more than his face is pretty. Even Morrigan thinks he has a nicely shaped rear. His hair is sunny gold and his muscles are so big and well-shaped. I like his chest hair. It is thick and crinkly and goes all the way down . . . rrmph!” She gave a muffled shriek when Alistair picked her up and ran; his hand covering her mouth. Blake could see that even Alistair’s ears were red and he began laughing. Behind him some of his companions who had moved close enough to hear her were also chuckling. Even Wynne had a smile on her face.

 

Zevran, Morrigan and Shale were the last ones to gather. “Is there a reason for such jocularity in the middle of the road?” the golem demanded.

 

“At camp tonight, when Alistair and Package are together, ask her about his chest hair,” Blake snickered.

 

“Why would _I_ want to inquire about such a, ugh, flesh creature thing?” Shale said irritably.

 

“Never mind, my fine rock friend, I shall do the asking and you need only observe,” Zevran was delighted to have something new in his templar-baiting repertoire.

 

That night all were around the campfire. Zevran waited until the warrior was comfortably settled next to Pocket Goddess and eating his stew before speaking, “So, Alistair,” he got the templar’s attention, “tomorrow we shall be in Redcliffe.” Alistair nodded warily. “I suppose you and the Warden will be checking on the status of your investment. I have been in many fine taverns and would like to offer you the benefit of my experience.”

 

Alistair relaxed, “Ha, you just want to flirt with Bella.”

 

“You wound me, Blake and I both want to flirt with the beauteous Bella.” The templar smiled in good humor and put another large mouthful of stew in his mouth, not noticing the gleam in Zevran’s eyes when he turned to Jannasilane. “My lovely Pocket Goddess, tell me of your fascination with the chest hair of our tempting templar.”

 

Alistair coughed and spewed a mouthful of stew into the fire as soon as he heard the words ‘chest hair.’ He wasn’t helped at all when Shale thumped him on the back. If he weren’t so strong he would surely have joined the stew in the flames.

 

Jannasilane was shaking her head, “I enjoy running my fingers through it this is truth but I promised my Ali I wouldn’t talk any more about how much I like his hair or how handsome he is.”

 

“I find it refreshing that a young man as attractive as Alistair is so modest about his appearance. Conceit can mar even the most perfect of faces,” Wynne’s soft voice penetrated the laughter.

 

“Oho, you frequently comment on my conceit. I did not realize you found my features so pleasing,” Zevran teased.

 

“I certainly do not,” Wynne snapped.

 

Zevran’s face fell and then understanding filled his expression, “I am crushed but now I see that it is Alistair for whom you have developed a tendresse.”

 

“She cannot have him,” Jannasilane blurted. She knew they were just joking but the words were out before she could stop them. Now it was her turn to become red as the proverbial beet while everybody laughed. Alistair looked smug and pulled her onto his lap so he could hold her while finishing what was left of his stew.

 

Wynne bit back a smile, “I am flattered that you see one as old as I as competition in a race I haven’t entered. On that pleasing sop to my own vanity I shall bid you good night.” Morrigan, Leliana and Shale also drifted away now that the entertainment was over.

 

Alistair looked at his empty bowl and then the stewpot. He wanted more but was well aware that Jannasilane had yet to eat, “You need food, Jannalove. I know you’re nervous about tomorrow but you still need to eat. Thanks, Zev,” he said when the elf handed stew to the woman in his arms as well as refilling his own bowl.

 

Jannasilane sighed, “I know my Ali. But what if the Ashes do not cure Arl Eamon?” She began eating in a desultory fashion.

 

“Worrying about what might happen is pointless when you already know what steps must be taken,” Sten replied. “The Warden believes the effort is necessary to ensure the good will of Redcliffe whether success is had or not. If this is true then it matters not whether this Eamon or his brother are in charge.” He stared calmly at the small woman who looked back at him. “Alistair, are you afraid she will run away if you are not holding her?” Sten did not understand why the other warrior felt the frequent need to hold her like that.

 

“What?” Alistair was a little annoyed at being constantly questioned, teased or harangued about him and his love. “I thought you of all people would approve of the efficiency. Two of my favorite things are cuddling with my lovely Janna and eating. Now I’m doing both at the same time. Don’t Qunari cuddle, ever?”

 

“Cuddle? Do all humans do this?”

 

“Only if they like each other. A lot.”

 

“You and our leader like each other but you do not cuddle,” Sten was perplexed and irritated.

 

Blake decided to intervene before one of the warriors lost their temper, “Alistair means liking each other in a romantic sense. Or possibly for comfort if they are close enough, such as a family member. Want to join me for a ‘cuddle,’ Zevran?”

 

“I would be more than happy to, my handsome Warden,” Zevran purred. “Perhaps even do more than cuddle. Did I ever tell you about the time . . .” His words were cut off by his tent flap closing behind them. Sten silently finished his dinner and left.

 

Alistair rubbed his face against Jannasilane’s hair, “Now it’s only you, me and General Lee.” He planted a kiss on top of her breasts. “Tomorrow we’ll know if Eamon or Teagan is in charge of Redcliffe’s forces. I know they’ll support us but Blake thinks, and I agree that it’s likely that Eamon will want to name me as Cailan’s true heir. That Maric’s son will be a better recruiting tool for our cause than either Eamon or Blake.”

 

Jannasilane suddenly felt cold doubt run down her spine, “S-so you would be king?”

 

“No. No, I don’t even want that. But Loghain is a tough opponent and Maric’s son, even if it is just me, has the only claim to the throne as strong as or stronger than Anora’s. I don’t like it, but we need as many troops as we can get as well as a great deal of support from the nobles. I don’t think they’ll care that much who sits on the throne as long as Loghain is taken down but they risk a lot and will need to be convinced of our, I guess of our commitment before they will even consider throwing their lot in with ours. I just didn’t want you to be caught by surprise if, when Eamon is back on his feet. Remember this, I am yours, always. I don’t care if they want to make me King of all Thedas I will not leave you. If you try to leave me I will follow you. Don’t doubt me on this, Jannasilane Alenahaella,” he warned before capturing her lips with his.

 

“It is too late for either of us, I think,” Jannasilane answered breathlessly. “I love you, always. I will not leave you, this I promise. I might as well not breathe as be without you.”

 

“I kind of like it when you can’t breathe when we’re together,” he quipped, relieved at her response.

 

“You are a bad, bad man,” she kissed him. They quickly cleaned everything they found before heading to their tent.

 

The village was full of activity and the castle was set to rights. Teagan greeted them warmly, his welcome to Jannasilane overly warm in Alistair’s opinion. “You look much happier than the last time I saw you, my dear. I’m glad,” he kissed both of her cheeks while she blushed prettily. He kept her hand tucked in his arm while he escorted the Wardens to Eamon’s room. “I can hardly believe you found the Ashes. I look forward to hearing the story of what must be quite the adventure.”

 

Jannasilane could feel the tension running through him, belying the lightness of his greeting. She rubbed his arm in comfort while they watched the healers use the Ashes. She didn’t notice him looking down at her in gratitude. When Eamon began to stir a few moments later Teagan dropped her arm and rushed to his brother’s side. When Eamon began to speak she quietly left the room to inform the others. On her way she passed by Connor’s room and saw him sitting anxiously near the door pretending to read a book. She went inside and he looked up at her, hope and dread chasing each other across his face. “Your father is recovering; he’s talking to Teagan and your mother right now. I’m sure you’ll be able to see him soon,” she smiled reassuring at the nine year old boy.

 

Connor’s reaction surprised her. His book slid off his lap when he hid his face in his hands to hide his crying. Jannasilane, in deference to his male pride, shut the door and then wrapped her arms around him. He clutched her as if his life depended on it, dragging her to the floor next to him. Jannasilane continued to hold him and stroke his hair and back soothingly while he let the stress of the past few months work itself out. She scowled above his head, wondering if his mother or anybody had bothered to really talk to the boy. He was sobbing so hard she worried he would hurt himself. Finally he quieted except for the occasional hiccupping gulp. He tried to pull himself away but didn’t fight her when she tightened her arms and kissed his hair, “I’m sorry, miss, for, for disturbing you. I’m glad that Father is better, really I am.”

 

“I know you are. The past few months have had much difficulty, have they not?” He nodded, his head pillowed on her breast. “Even I need to cry once in awhile, though I do not like to do so. Do you wish to talk?”

 

He shook his head, “It’s okay for you. You’re a girl.”

 

She rolled her eyes at that but answered quietly, “My Ali is the strongest, bravest man I know and I have seen him cry. It is not easy to be a Grey Warden who has lost everything and know that Ferelden and the whole world are depending on you to stop the Archdemon. Like you he does this in private.”

 

Connor sniffed, “How brave is he?”

 

“Well,” she considered what to tell him, “After we retrieved the Ashes he bashed a dragon and cut off its head.”

 

He looked up at her, his eyes wide, “Did he really?” He was awed by the picture she painted of Alistair rushing a high dragon with sword and shield. He fell asleep, worn out by his emotional storm, while she told him of other adventures. She smiled to herself and continued to hold him.

 

Teagan and the Wardens left Isolde alone with Eamon. Teagan wanted to bring Connor to see his father while the Wardens rejoined their companions. Teagan smiled when he opened the door to Connor’s room, _“Connor couldn’t find a better pillow.”_ He noticed Jannasilane glaring at him, _“My lady is angry with me for some reason. Now is not the time but I‘ll be sure to ask her later.”_ In order not to distress the boy any further he closed the door and knocked loudly enough to awaken him. “Connor? Your father is asking for you.”

 

Connor woke with a start, blushing when realized he’d fallen asleep in Jannasilane’s arms. Tactfully she made no mention of this, “I am happy that your father is well. I will leave so you can quickly refresh yourself if you like.” Quickly she left the room and waited with Teagan.

 

Mere minutes later Connor joined them, eager to see his father at last. He didn’t forget his manners and he bowed to Jannasilane, “Thank you for coming to talk with me. I feel better now.” Then he practically tugged Teagan’s hand to go to Eamon’s side.


	45. Eamon

Jowan was back in the dungeon waiting for the templars to escort him back to the Circle. Eamon stared into the fire. It was so hard to believe that the Hero of River Dane, the farmer’s boy who helped the rebel prince, was so obsessed or insane as to poison him. He shook his head and spoke softly, half to himself, “To kill Cailan . . . poison me . . . he must be mad. What else has he done?” He turned around and examined the group of people gathered in the Main Hall; the Wardens and their odd assortment of companions, now Champions of Redcliffe. It was the least he could do for saving his wife and son. He was proud of Alistair though he was careful to keep his expression neutral. The boy had grown into a fine young man and he didn’t miss the deep connection between him and the small woman with the eyes and hair. He was reminded of his own courtship of Isolde and knew better than to try and interfere. The last thing he wanted was to alienate the lad. He doubted Alistair fully understood why he was sent to the Chantry or his prior treatment. Before the Wardens left again he was determined to talk to Alistair and get to know his young lady.

 

“Loghain must be stopped while there is still a Ferelden left to save. I suggest we call a Landsmeet and challenge Loghain’s rule. However, if Teagan or I put forward a claim we will seem no less opportunistic. We need a stronger contender to the throne.”

 

Teagan raised an eyebrow in query, “Do you mean Alistair, brother?”

 

“Yes. Maric’s son has a stronger claim to the throne than Anora. Normally I wouldn’t suggest such a thing but this situation is not normal by any means.” Alistair started to say something but Eamon looked at him sternly, “Unless you prefer that Loghain remain regent.”

 

“No my lord, of course not,” Alistair replied in the only way he could but he wasn’t happy, simply resigned to the inevitable.

 

Eamon continued, “I will discreetly contact other members of the Bannorn. They may not be pleased with or agree with many of his actions but the darkspawn are the bigger and more immediate threat. They’ll keep an open mind but you need to show them you can provide a strong alternative before they’ll commit.  Come back here when you have the last of your treaties; I will have several messengers waiting to officially call the Landsmeet. What do you think, Warden?”

 

Blake’s smile held little amusement, more a wry understanding of the situation. “Well, as much as I would enjoy dealing with the bastard face to face I agree. We need to finish ratifying the Grey Warden treaties before we can take care of Loghain.”

 

“Loghain’s actions are already alienating some of the Bannorn, according to rumors we’ve heard. If he continues as he has been more and more are going to be unhappy. While we’re dealing with the treaties word of what he’s done to you will have a chance to spread, adding to his unpopularity,” Alistair added.

 

Eamon nodded approvingly, “It’s settled then. I know you wish to be on your way as soon as possible but please, stay a few days to rest, regroup and resupply. You’ll have few opportunities on the road. If you wish to use Redcliffe as a way station please avail yourself, Castle Redcliffe opens its doors to you. Take whatever you need.” As the group began to disperse he approached Alistair and Blake, “Alistair, if you don’t mind I’d like to speak to you privately for a moment. Do you mind waiting in my study?” Alistair hesitated but agreed. He took Jannasilane with him to wait. Eamon watched them go with some amusement before turning to Blake, “Warden, Blake, I wish to personally express my condolences to you. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland were not only personal friends but were true leaders among the Bannorn. Your father’s opinions were held in great respect among the Landsmeet and by Maric and Cailan even when they disagreed. I doubt many know of his role in negotiating agreements with other countries since he rarely took credit for himself or Highever, instead deferring to the Crown. The growing respect of Ferelden among other nations owes as much to your father as it does to Maric. He had a talent for making agreements which benefited Ferelden yet allowed the other party to think they had the better deal. After this is over you have my support in reclaiming Highever and searching for your brother.”

 

“Thank you, Arl Eamon,” Blake responded gravely. “It’s hard to think of Highever destroyed and Fergus dead or wandering somewhere in the Wilds. I don’t understand how we couldn’t see Howe for what he is.”

 

“Even the best of us have blind spots, young Cousland. When he was around your parents I never saw anything but congeniality.” Eamon sighed, “After his father’s death Rendon Howe fought with us against Orlais. It’s easy to see one’s comrades in war as friends in peace. Now I have to ask, was it belief in the cause or political expediency? I don’t know. He enjoys power; that much has always been obvious. Whatever festered all these years found its opportunity in the Blight and Loghain’s support for I sincerely doubt he would have dared attack Highever if he didn’t have the backing of someone equally powerful. He’s just not that bold. Or reckless.”

 

“Father did say Loghain was opposed to making treaties with other nations.”

 

“Loghain wants to believe that Ferelden can be completely self-sufficient and strong enough to withstand any attack. He’s afraid any treaties will reveal weakness and make us more prone to invasion than less. Your father and I disagreed with him more than once. We’re not hundreds of miles away from the nearest nation with impenetrable borders. It’s true we can’t be complacent but we also cannot be isolationists. But you have better things to do than listen to an old man rehash political arguments,” Eamon chuckled.

 

Blake smiled in return, “Actually you’ve helped put some things in context for me. Thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace.” He nodded respectfully and walked away.

 

Eamon leisurely made his way to his study where Alistair waited. His shrewd gaze missed nothing as he glanced from one companion to another. _“The Warden has certainly managed to collect one of the most eclectic groups of people I’ve ever encountered. It says much that he has managed to keep a certain amount of harmony among such a disparate group; diplomacy seems to run in the family,”_ he mused. He heard Alistair and the young woman, Jannasilane, talking and stopped outside his study to listen. He wanted a better sense of their relationship and here was an excellent opportunity. _“Teagan speaks highly of her, highly enough to have proposed marriage. She’s an attractive little thing,”_ he thought to himself, _“but that doesn’t mean Alistair is more than infatuated. Teagan thinks so but he is not always the best judge.”_

 

“Blake gave me the dragon scale. Do you think the smith, Owen, can make dragon armor? I’d like a better set of medium armor, I’m comfortable with the plate but there are times when lighter is more practical. Medium dragon armor is better than some heavy armor and, judging by your leathers, easily enchanted so that it can provide even more protection. And it’s even easier to hold you in my arms,” he waggled his eyebrows jokingly.

 

Jannasilane did not smile as he expected, “You must not give up protection for something so trivial, my Ali. You are too important to risk. If you were hurt,” she shuddered at the thought.

 

Alistair became as serious as she was, “Don’t worry, my love, I’m not going to jeopardize my duty or you. But I don’t want another set of plate armor. I don’t know how much room I’ll have to maneuver in Orzammar or deeper in the forest when we look for the Dalish. It’s possible that the more cumbersome plate will get in the way and make me less effective. I won’t risk not being able to protect you or Blake or any of us.” He couldn’t resist adding, “holding you is just a bonus.”

 

“Do you think he could make it a deep green? That color would be most attractive on you,” she stroked his cheek, relieved that he wasn’t going to compromise his safety.

 

“I could ask,” he answered doubtfully. “You know, I’m so used to this massive plate I’m going to feel naked in medium armor.”

 

“Hmmm,” she smiled seductively, “I just had a picture of you in just your boots, sword and shield. Most desirable.”

 

Alistair choked. Outside in the hall Eamon bit his lip in order not to burst out laughing. Alistair recovered and nibbled her ear, “Wicked woman, tonight I’ll wear that if _you_ promise to wear just this,” he pointed to her skirt, “this,” he touched her chestpiece, “and these,” he held up a pair of gold earrings. They were long heavy dangles with an intricate design of copper and silver and small sparkles of topaz. “I thought these would look pretty against your hair. The design is bold and complex but not as strong and beautiful as you.”

 

“They are lovely, Ali, but you shouldn’t have spent your coin on me,” she protested even as her fingers itched to try them on.

 

“We’ve been fortunate with some of the things we’ve found on the road. I asked Leliana to do the bargaining, nobody is better. But what are we fighting the darkspawn for if not to court a pretty girl, enjoy the camaraderie of friends in a tavern, or relax by the fire in our own homes? I love you, Jannasilane Alenahaella, and I rarely have the opportunity to give you anything that is not a necessity. I promise I won’t spoil you with lots of precious gems. Although, if I’m king I could find a way to shower you in jewels,” he said playfully. “That’s the _only_ benefit I can see to the job.”

 

“Silly man,” her voice was tender, “I love you; I don’t need a pile of pretty rocks. Give them to Shale.”

 

Eamon heard nothing but silence for a few minutes. He thought about what he’d heard and so far approved of this mysterious young girl. She seemed to truly care for Alistair and to be a loyal sort. Loyalty seemed to be a trait hard to find in these times.

 

Alistair’s arms were loosely wrapped around his Janna, his chin resting on the top of her head. “I wonder why Eamon wants to see me instead of Blake.”

 

“Perhaps he wants to tell you how wonderful you are,” Jannasilane replied with a smile in her voice.

 

“You are closer to the truth than you realize, young lady.” Eamon’s eyes twinkled when she jumped, hitting her head on Alistair’s chin and causing him to bite his tongue. He knew they were wondering just how much he overheard and carefully schooled his features. “Would you excuse us, my dear? I wish to speak to Alistair privately.” He observed her look to her templar and get his nod before leaving them and shutting the door behind her. If he were a betting man he would bet she would be waiting no farther than the main hall.

 

For a few moments Eamon watched Alistair, noting the boy in the man and the man that boy had become. At first Alistair squirmed just like the little boy expecting a reprimand then he became calm and stared steadily back at Arl Eamon. Eamon nodded thoughtfully. “Your friend appears to be a nice, albeit unconventional, young lady. I trust you are not simply toying with her affections, Alistair. I know in wartime these things happen but she isn’t old enough to understand this.”

 

Alistair kept his temper but his eyes betrayed his anger, “Not that it’s any concern of yours but no, I am not _toying_ with her. And yes, she is nice and generous and strong and even unconventional.” He blinked when Eamon smiled.

 

“I didn’t think you were, to be honest,” the Arl replied. “Your answer tells me much about the man you’ve become; loyal, confident, forthright and capable of self-control. I’m proud of you, Alistair.” He paused and let his words sink in. He didn’t miss the furrow creasing the younger man’s brow, “I spoke with Teagan. What you and Blake have accomplished thus far is remarkable, not least of which is finding the Urn. Thank you, for finding them and saving Connor and Isolde. I know you and she were never in accord; some would have found it easy to let her sacrifice herself.”

 

“Um, you’re welcome,” Alistair was uncomfortable with the tone of the conversation. He was more accustomed to people making fun of him or berating him; for Eamon to say that he was proud of him was beyond his imaginings.

 

“Alistair, now that you’re a man I think it’s time you understood why I made the decisions I did when you were young.”

 

The blonde warrior shrugged his shoulders, “My presence was inconvenient once you were married. She probably believed the rumors that you were my father,” only the slightest trace of resentment colored his voice. Maker, he’d hated the Chantry.

 

“You’re wrong.” Once again Eamon surprised Alistair. Ruefully the Arl admitted, “I won’t say that her antipathy wasn’t a small factor but that’s all it was. Perhaps we should have had this talk before now.” He sighed and thought how to begin, “When your father entrusted you to my care I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I had to protect the secret of your parentage while seeing to your welfare. The first couple of years were easy; I just needed to find a wet nurse who would be willing to look after you. Between Redcliffe and Rainesfere it wasn’t difficult to find a respectable, strong woman to take care of the orphaned child of one of my knights. A necessary lie,” he stated firmly. “By the time you were back in my care I had taken note of how other bastard children were treated. I did not want unnecessary attention drawn to you which might raise questions; even then you resembled your father if anyone looked closely enough. You could have been used as a pawn to embarrass Maric, even kidnapped.”

 

“So that’s why you consigned me sleep in the barn?” Alistair asked in disbelief.

 

“You were always warm and dry, with plenty of food to eat, weren’t you?” Eamon replied calmly. “If other nobles chose to think I was coddling my livestock, well I was eccentric. Certainly it could have nothing to do with a little stable boy. And of course I couldn’t allow my stable boy to run around in rags.”

 

Alistair thought about it. Grudgingly he spoke, “Clever. I didn’t really mind the barn but why did you have to send me off to the Chantry if not for Isolde?”

 

Eamon sighed, “I’m sorry you weren’t happy, lad but you needed an education. Revered Mother Hannah is a good soul and knows the Chant of Light but anything beyond basic math and reading is outside her capabilities. From the Chantry I received reports on your progress until you were conscripted by Duncan. I know you excelled in your studies and were dedicated in your arms training. I have a question for you, Alistair, if you weren’t happy why did you begin training to be a templar? Why didn’t you leave?”

 

“I didn’t know that was an option,” Alistair said slowly. “And then later . . . well it doesn’t matter now.” He sat back, deep in thought.

 

“That miserable bitch, the Chantry was well compensated for your education and arms training! Before you began any serious Templar training you were to be given the option of continuing or returning here where I would help you find a more suitable career. There are opportunities for a strong and skilled young man,” Eamon fumed and didn’t notice that Alistair had turned white.

 

Straining to keep his voice even Alistair stood up, “You’ve given me much to think about, my lord, if you’ll excuse me . . .” he didn’t wait for a reply. He needed some air or something.

 

Eamon watched him go, concerned about the boy. _“He must have been even unhappier than I realized. I should have kept a closer eye on him. Damn.”_ He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, _“What’s done is done. I’ll give Alistair some time before talking to him again. No wonder he was so angry whenever I visited.”_

 

Turmoil was the mildest way to describe Alistair’s thoughts. He didn’t know what to think, all this time . . . he saw Jannasilane sitting in the main hall talking to Teagan. He knew he wasn’t up to conversation so he slipped upstairs to their room where he could be alone to sort out his thoughts. He stood at the window and stared out, seeing his past rather than the courtyard. He almost didn’t hear the door opening when Jannasilane came in. One look at his face and she became angry, “If he hurt you I will tear out his beard. This I promise.”

 

Alistair bit back a laugh and hugged her as tightly as he could, “No, my feisty love, it’s just . . . I needed to think.” He sat down on the bed and pulled her down next to him. He took a deep breath and looked at her. Seeing the worry and love in her beautiful eyes settled him and he smiled. He traced her features with his fingers and told her everything that transpired in Eamon’s study. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not upset knowing he really did care for my welfare and I understand his decisions better. I’m glad he explained. But that the Revered Mother lied to me, or at least deceived me into thinking I didn’t have a choice . . . I didn’t have to suffer those last few years.” He rested his forehead on hers, “But then I might not have become a Grey Warden or met you. I can’t imagine a life without my Jannalove. Nor do I regret being a Grey Warden, it suits me.”

 

When she gently kissed him it felt like a benediction. She twined her fingers in his, “I can’t imagine life without you either, my Ali.” She sighed and they just sat content in each other’s company.


	46. Ambush Déjà Vu

“Do you have the impression the mountains don’t like us?” Alistair groused to Blake. “First Haven, now the road to Orzammar . . . some of these drifts are taller than Janna.”

 

Blake looked at the girl in question, “You and Zevran fall into them while she glides. Unless you pull her in when she tries to help you up,” the dark rogue was amused. He was waiting to see what form of revenge she planned. For himself he rather liked the red flush on Zevran’s cheeks, warming him up was one of the more enjoyable parts of the evening. “It’s nowhere near as bad as it was when we went to Haven; Package hasn’t even looked at her boots.”

 

“The way ahead is narrow; a path on the side of a mountain. We must go forward one by one,” Sten reported. It had been his turn to break through the snow for the rest of the party and he stamped his feet to dislodge some of the clinging snow.

 

“Then we go forward with Shale in front then me, Leliana, General Lee, Morrigan, Alistair, Zevran, Wynne, Jannasilane and you. I want at least three feet between each of us so if we slip and fall we’re less likely to bring anybody down with us.”

 

“The small female should go first,” Sten disagreed. “She is very fast and is able to move over the snow unlike any other I have seen.  We might need that ability if something happens.”

 

“You’re thinking it might be a good place for an ambush,” Alistair sighed. “Gre-eat.”

 

“They’re not going to expect a golem, either,” Blake retorted. “You have a point, though; she can be directly behind Shale. She'll scramble right up that rocky back if she needs to." And so they proceeded. And were ambushed. Blake wished that once, just once, when somebody predicted bad things they _didn’t_ happen.

 

While Shale and Leliana dealt long range damage Jannasilane slipped around the golem and dealt with the wolves and mabari streaking towards them over the snow.  The others were now able to engage the attackers freely. Soon all but the leader lay dead in the red snow. “Stop, I'm done. This was supposed to be an easy job, kill the pretty redheaded girl and any she traveled with. Easy? Ha! I'll be lucky to get away with my life.”

 

“Kill the – you mean me?” Leliana practically squeaked in surprise.

 

“Very lucky. Now, who hired you to kill one of my companions?” Blake's voice was cold as the wintry air.

 

“Dunno, but I followed the bloke what contacted us and have an address,” he held it out to the Warden. “It's a house just off the marketplace in Denerim.”

 

“Information for your life, then, so be it.”

 

Jannasilane stared after the man and fingered her daggers, “I do not like this, my Warden. I do not like people threatening my friends.”

 

“So bloodthirsty, perhaps you should have been a Crow,” Zevran jested.

 

Blake ignored them, “Does this have something to do with Orlais?”

 

The bard shook her head, “No, it has to be Marjolaine. What I do not understand is why attack me now; next time we are in Denerim I would like to settle this.”

 

The Warden nodded, “I doubt it will take long. Now let's see if can get to Orzammar without any more trouble.”

 

A few days later and they almost made it. First bounty hunters tried to stop them when they were close and then a group of Loghain’s lackeys led by some pompous, self-important twit attacked them at the gateway to Orzammar. Once they were inside the Hall of Heroes they breathed sighs of relief and then stood in awe of the statues lining the passageway. "If I remember correctly these are statues of their Paragons, ancestors who did something particularly noteworthy," remarked Alistair.

 

“I do hope you aren’t harboring any hopes of achieving such status for yourself,” Morrigan didn’t resist the opening he gave her.

 

“Don’t worry, I have no desire to reach such heights if it means I’m too tall for my Jannasilane,” Alistair retorted, switching the witch’s words around. Morrigan raised an eyebrow in mock surprise at his cleverness.

 

Jannasilane put her hands on her hips and glared at her templar, “Then I shall just have to climb up on you.” She stamped her foot in irritation and walked off in a huff when he blushed and choked on his laughter. Zevran and Blake didn’t bother hiding their snickering at her words. Even Morrigan’s lips twitched in sly amusement.

 

“MiffMuffin makes her appearance,” Zevran jested. “If I were you I would worry about retaliation, my stalwart friend. Hopefully the results will not wake the rest of us as they did the last time she paid you for your transgressions. Though seeing you run outside in little but some _very_ cold smallclothes was quite entertaining. A . . . exhilarating sight to be sure,” his words reminded the others of Jannasilane’s revenge for being constantly pulled into snowdrifts by Alistair. She had prepared a special snowball and waited until he was asleep before slipping it into the front of his smalls. His roar woke up the camp. The others were quite entertained by the sight of him dancing around the fire trying to dislodge the cold ball which seemed determined to make a home nestled against his favorite parts. _“The Warden and I were quite inspired by the sight. That such a physique, such muscles are so often hidden under that armor should be a crime.”_

 

Morrigan also recalled that night fondly, _“I quite understand why she finds the fool so attractive. Even cold his ‘qualities’ were abundantly on display. And not one of them knows she approached me about enchanting a modest little snowball so that it could not be removed for a few minutes. A challenge because it couldn’t be too long or he might suspect magic was involved. If only that body wasn’t attached to that personality . . .”_

 

“Maker,” Alistair shuddered at the memory. Of course afterwards when she offered to warm him up . . . a hot tongue and warm hands . . . well, maybe revenge wasn’t such a bad thing. As long as it remained private, of course. He glanced around. Just as the compass needle found north his gaze found Jannasilane.

 

_“I don’t think Package expected Alistair to run for the fire but Zevran and I certainly enjoyed the show once we realized we weren’t under attack.”_ Blake watched Package examining one of the statues and being approached by a dwarf. He kept his eyes on her when he spoke, “I think this whole ‘defeat the Blight’ mission can be described in one word: circles. In the past few months we’ve travelled over the same roads more often than any but the most dedicated wandering merchant.”

 

“Yes, even the small jobs you have taken for coin seem to involve circular travel. If that scrawny human, Faryn, is telling the truth my sword is back in Redcliffe with that dwarf you convinced to fight.” Sten was resigned. As far as he was concerned their movements through Ferelden mirrored the reasoning of these humans. He was still surprised by how often they were successful despite their illogic.

 

A dwarf in cheap clothing approached Jannasilane at the statue of Paragon Bemo. He didn’t have any weapons she could see and he stopped well short of crowding her so she wasn’t alarmed. “Are you a human?” he asked respectfully. “I haven’t seen many and they were much taller. My name is Jernan and I am, or used to be, a respected scholar. I saw you come in with the Grey Wardens.”

 

Jannasilane tilted her head and sighed at the reference to her lack of height but quietly introduced herself. Soon they were engaged in an involved discussion about humans, dwarves and the current political situation both above and below the surface. “Blake, Ali, Mr. Jernan has been telling me much of what is happening,” she was over her huff and was now concerned instead. “My Wardens, you may find it difficult to get any help. The king’s death and the fight over his throne, it is tense. Without a king there is nobody who can authorize assistance.”

 

“Just Jernan, pleasure to meet you, Grey Wardens,” Jernan bowed slightly. “The Assembly probably could but they won’t. Between Lord Harrowmont and Prince Bhelen arguing over the throne the nobles are positioning themselves not just so their families will benefit but so they will survive. It’s not good to be on the wrong side. Dwarven memories are long, Wardens, as long as our traditions. And there is no such thing as a ‘small’ slight. On the surface perhaps but not in Orzammar.”

 

“Thank you, Jernan, but we must try. Maybe we can even help,” Blake smiled at the slight look of disgruntlement the dwarf tried to hide.

 

They entered Orzammar proper in time to see the deadly results of a confrontation between Harrowmont and Bhelen. “It is true then, dwarven politics are as much a blood sport as the Provings. I think we should tread carefully, Warden,” Leliana voiced concerns they all shared.

 

“Let’s see what people are saying. Maybe there’s a way we can get assistance without becoming embroiled in the political mess. If not we can at least be better informed. The market and tavern are good places to start,” Blake decided.

 

“I would suggest we all stay together, my dear Warden,” Zevran asserted softly, “none of us are familiar with Orzammar and its undercurrents or side streets. It would be a shame to miss any nuances which would change our understanding. I think we have already seen the potential results.”

 

Blake studied his lover carefully, _“I wonder what is behind his words; he definitely does not want us to split up which I would ordinarily propose.”_ He nodded his head as if considering Zevran’s point, “I think that’s a good idea. Father said not even Orlesian politics were as labyrinthian. We’ll trade, listen and gather as much information and impressions as we can. We also need to find a place to spend the night. I don’t want to be locked out if they change their minds.”

 

“That shouldn’t be a problem for Janna and General Lee, the rest of us might have some challenges,” Alistair spoke wryly. He didn’t think Orzammar was likely to have any beds big enough, especially for him or Sten.

 

“Finally my lack of height is an advantage. Maybe we should spend many nights here,” Jannasilane’s eyes twinkled at the thought of her warrior trying to fit into a bed half his size.

 

“The mini it does have a perverse sense of humor,” Shale spoke up.

 

They strolled the Commons and spoke to guards, bartered with merchants and listened to gossip and rumors. Everywhere they went Jannasilane was the center of attention, even when the dwarves were speaking directly to the Wardens. Her short stature made her more approachable.

 

Jannasilane and Shale were discussing the merits of some crystals she found which the golem might be able to use. Hours later they’d been to several merchants, Tapsters Tavern, the Shaperate and Dust Town where they’d come across the book thief. Blake turned the late thief’s proving receipt over in his hands, “I think we should enter the Proving today on behalf of the Grey Wardens. We may even win though that would be a bonus.”

 

“I suppose we could do that,” Alistair said slowly. “While you were talking to the Shaper I was looking through some of their books on Grey Wardens. It’s been more than 300 years since the last time a Grey Warden took part in the Provings. Although the Warden involved was a dwarf and it was an honor proving about the purpose of the Order, still it wasn’t the first time either. It might be unusual but not unheard of. Certainly the Proving Master would be aware of the history. Should be fun.”

 

“Fun? Fighting and death are not something to be treated lightly, a source of amusement. I was also not aware we had much time to indulge ourselves in unnecessary frivolity,” rebuke registered in every word Sten uttered.

 

“It is not a fight to the death but a proof of skill,” Wynne corrected him. “But I agree we should not do this, Warden. Any one of you could be seriously injured. And even if it isn’t supposed to be to the death accidents do happen. We can’t risk losing one of the last two Wardens in Ferelden in a foolish game.”

 

“Three,” Jannasilane whispered, thinking of Riordan. Only Morrigan heard but didn’t say anything. She doubted the older Warden was still alive but if the toy wanted to comfort herself with futile hope she wasn’t going to disabuse her. The toy would find out soon enough.

 

Blake shook his head, “Most people seem to be treating the Blight as a triviality, at least when compared to the lack of a king. If the Ancestors prove they are behind us, which they will if we win even just the first few rounds, then Bhelen and Harrowmont can’t brush us aside. I suppose since they fight darkspawn all the time it isn’t a new concern for them; that one dwarf even said it was a break for them.”

 

“I overheard one of these dwarves in the Diamond Quarter moaning about her favorite jam being unavailable,” Shale interjected. “Perhaps I should have squished its silly little head.”

 

“Oh good, I can’t wait to see somebody pounding on the templar with sword, axe or mace. It should be quite entertaining.”

 

Alistair bowed sarcastically, “Thank you, Morrigan. Glad to be of service.” The witch smirked but said nothing more. Alistair studied Blake, “You do know that the dwarves respect Grey Wardens. We’re held in higher esteem here than on the surface; we don’t need to prove our relevance.”

 

“I wish I shared your optimism,” Blake responded. “No, I think we must enter the Proving. Some of you will need to be in the audience, listening and observing. Alistair, you’re with me, of course. And I think Shale and Sten.  It won’t hurt to show we have a golem in our corner.”

 

“So I’m to be a prop, am I? Wonderful,” Shale sighed gustily. “I suppose you want me to stand around looking fierce and intimidating.”

 

“You _are_ awfully pretty but you might get to fight. From what I’ve gathered the Proving has several rounds, from single combat to small squads. I thought you might enjoy the possibility of pounding on small, squishy creatures,” Blake eyed the golem consideringly, “if you prefer to just stand around . . .”

 

“If the Warden keeps making ridiculous comments it might find itself the one being squished,” Shale muttered.

 

Zevran leered, “Have no fear, my fine rock friend; I shall make sure the Warden is properly . . . _chastised._ ” Their voices became indistinct as they strolled to the Proving arena.

 

Unbeknownst to them two members of the Carta were behind one of the criminal organization’s many false rocks and overheard their entire conversation. Once they were sure the Wardens’ group was all out of earshot they stepped out. The one with a full, scruffy beard looked at his scarred companion, “So the Grey Wardens want to play at being dwarfs. Jarvia will want to know this straight away.”

 

The other smiled crookedly through his scars, “Jarvia’s not the only one.” The two dwarves nodded at each other and slithered away.


	47. The Proving

It was dark, her head hurt and she found it difficult to concentrate so she didn’t realize at first that she was naked except for her small clothes. She blinked several times, rubbed her eyes, blinked some more and looked under the sheet covering her before carefully sitting up, _“Where are my clothes, my daggers? Where am I and what happened?”_ She frowned, thinking hard even though it hurt. _“We were in the Commons . . . Shale and I were debating the value of some crystals, then there was some sort of commotion. . . . I got separated and turned around . . . I lost my balance, or was I pushed? and hit my head. When I opened my eyes there was an old dwarven woman who helped me to her shop and gave me a cup of tea. She looked at my head and . . . next thing I remember is waking up here.”_ Gingerly she felt the back of her head and winced at the large sore spot.

 

She heard footsteps and quickly tucked the sheet around her. She was determined to show no more vulnerability than she could avoid. The old dwarva looked surprised to see her awake but smiled, displaying missing teeth, “Well, I guess that bump on your head wasn’t as bad as I feared. You were lucky, child. I was worried when you collapsed at my table. Wiltor helped me get you into bed. Don’t worry; I made sure he didn’t trespass on your modesty.” She chuckled and continued talking garrulously while Jannasilane watched warily. “I took your leathers to air ‘em out. You must have seen a bit of fighting. I’ve never seen armor like that, it’s not dwarven made as far as I can tell. Wiltor hasn’t seen your friends yet. I’m sure they’ll show up soon. How do you feel?” Her sharp eyes watched the girl carefully. Jarvia wanted her held until after the Proving and she couldn’t afford to get on the Carta’s bad side. The guards were too busy keeping the nobles from killing each other over politics to help protect the lower castes.

 

“My head hurts,” Jannasilane whispered hoarsely. She was afraid to admit that she was finding it hard to follow what the old woman was saying.

 

“Well, that was a nasty bump. I think all that hair protected you somewhat. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. I’ll go make some more tea. It’ll soothe your throat,” the old woman stepped back and nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned and bumped into Zevran.

 

“What else will it do?” he asked in a voice quiet with menace. The old woman staring at him lost all color and swayed on her feet. “Perhaps it will put her to sleep permanently?”

 

“You know the hardest part about the first two fights?” Blake was speaking quietly to Alistair while waiting for the current round to finish so he would know who he’d next face. 

 

Alistair took his gaze from the Proving Master’s box and looked at his fellow Warden. He quirked an eyebrow and half-smiled through his worry, “Trying not to look like you’re simply toying with them before you finish them off?” He sighed, “Nobody has sent us a message. Maybe she wasn’t deliberately separated and taken from us even if it did feel that way.”

 

“Wishing on what has already happened is unproductive. Upon reflection it was quite clearly an orchestrated series of events as Leliana and the elf stated. They may be frivolous at times but they have the skills to find the small human,” Sten stated.

 

“The swamp witch’s decision to accompany them was not expected,” Shale rumbled. 

 

“Next round is about to start. Underperforming is more tiring than you’d think,” Blake said with mock resignation. The others watched the fight, the audience, and the people milling around them in the wings. From what they’d gathered from some of the fans usually single rounds were first and then paired or squad events which meant Blake had to bear the brunt of the fighting until later.

 

It was good to see Gwiddon and Baizyl fighting. Blake didn’t like that some of Harrowmont’s fighters were being manipulated out of the Proving and he wondered if perhaps that explained Package’s disappearance. If so time was running out for any message to be delivered. It made more sense that somebody wanted to influence the outcome of the match than that they had a grudge against Grey Wardens or even them specifically. Alistair and Blake made it through the paired combat but it took awhile. Alistair played into the stereotype that big men weren’t especially fast or flexible. Fortunately he was strong enough to withstand the hits he took.

 

Blake made it into the final round, which was squad combat against Bhelen’s cousin, Piotin Aeducan. “Second man back, do you see it?” Blake asked very quietly as he appeared to be studying the crowd and Piotin.

 

“Janna’s lacings tied around his wrist? Oh I see it,” Alistair growled. “I think we just got our message.”

 

“We’ll stall as we have been, but keep an eye out for Zevran. If he brings Package we will let loose and pound these fuckers into the stone. If he doesn’t . . . I’m not going to let them win. But it will be a slow battle. Shale, concentrate on their archer. Keep him dancing but just miss hitting him until we give the word. Sten, be clever.” If Piotin’s men had been close enough to see Blake’s eyes they’d wish they were fighting darkspawn.

 

The crowd was immediately engaged. They expected Piotin’s team to quickly defeat the Warden in spite of his previous successes and were surprised when this didn’t happen. Many found it disconcerting that a golem was fighting _against_ dwarves. As the match dragged on the crowd was actually starting to grow bored at the apparent stalemate when Alistair noticed activity in the Proving Master’s box. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zevran and then Jannasilane in the box. He smiled. It was a slow smile totally without mirth. “Blake,” he called softly.

 

Blake looked up and his eyes softened with relief then hardened to cold steel, “Engage!” The Wardens moved quickly and gracefully in the arena. Alistair put all the rage he’d been holding into his war cry, stunning the three near dwarves into immobility. Shale began hitting the archer with pinpoint accuracy. If one of the Aeducan warriors got in the way a casual backhand cleared the path and left the warrior with a true understanding of what it meant to fight a golem. Sten was almost superfluous and contented himself with flanking the dancing Wardens and striking a blow whenever an opponent tried to circle around behind. 

 

Wynne was fascinated by the Provings even though she didn’t approve of the Wardens’ participation. She sighed; she understood their reasoning but suspected their youth played a part. How many times she’d counseled young mages about being carried away in mock battles and the burns and other injuries she’d treated . . . she shook her head and chuckled. The Proving Master smiled to see her enjoying herself. Wynne watched Blake fighting and kept an ear out for Zevran and the others, _“Maker watch over our young friend and may she be returned to us safely.”_ Her opinion of the relationship between the girl and Alistair was changing. If Jannasilane was returned she would be sure to apologize to Alistair for her previous advice. She turned around when Morrigan entered followed by the two rogues with Jannasilane supported between them. “Child! You’re positively green, what’s wrong?” She flared up her healing spells and listened to Leliana.

 

“We found her in a small, dark shop. She’s been hit on the head and drugged,” Leliana told Wynne everything while Wynne worked.

 

Jannasilane sighed and sagged against Zevran in relief. She nearly wept as the elder mage treated her head. She’d pressed her lips together in an effort to control the nausea as they rushed through Orzammar but it was a near thing. Once the effects of the drug were gone she stood up straight, “Thank you, Wynne, I feel much better now.”

 

“That is my cue,” Zevran smiled wickedly and dipped her low for a deep kiss. He was amused to see her flustered. “Didn’t I tell you that I would save my reward until you were feeling better?”

 

“You are a wicked man, Zevran Arainai,” she muttered, blushing.

 

“Which is why the Warden and I get along so well,” he playfully chucked his fingers under her chin.

 

Morrigan sneered, “I don’t think the Wardens would approve.”

 

Zevran leered playfully, “My dear Morrigan, the Warden would only be upset that he wasn’t first.”

 

“Alistair is a different story,” Leliana interjected lightly.

 

“Carry on then,” Morrigan replied regally.

 

“Children,” Wynne suppressed her amusement at their byplay, “the final match has begun and the Wardens are fighting. Do you wish to watch? By the way, child, now that your usual healthy color has returned that deep rose-pink dress is lovely on you.” She turned away to watch the match. 

 

Eagerly Jannasilane joined her and watched. She was a bit surprised at the, well she could only call it desultory, way her Wardens were fighting. Then, as if her thoughts flipped some sort of switch, the squad changed tactics. She became mesmerized by Alistair’s movements, the grace and finesse which weren’t usually in play against the darkspawn. Her eyes widened when, with an elegant swing of his sword, he sliced off a good portion of one dwarf’s beard. In mere minutes the squad of Piotin Aeducan was lying senseless on the ground. 

 

The crowd was silent in stunned disbelief then roared at the outcome. This was a Proving none of them would forget and would tell their children about. It was worthy of the Stone. While Sten, Shale and Alistair surrounded him Blake quickly knelt and removed Package’s lacings from the one dwarf’s wrist, _“I wonder what he’ll think about the new shape to his beard,”_ he thought darkly. Gracefully he bowed to the Proving master when he was proclaimed victor, “It was the privilege of Ferelden’s Grey Wardens to honor the late King Endrin and our allies in Orzammar.” As they left the arena he was already planning his next moves, “We need to find some rooms. I suppose the tavern is our best bet. Alistair, did the Grey Wardens stay anywhere in particular?”

 

“Duncan said when he was here recruiting he was invited to stay at the palace. Somehow I don’t think that’s going to happen for us. If Tapster’s doesn’t have any rooms maybe somebody can direct us to an empty store or something. Or the Shaper may know of a place.” When Alistair saw Jannasilane waiting for them he nearly stopped breathing, she was so beautiful and looked so young in that dress. 

 

He started moving again when Blake elbowed him, “Package is looking none the worse for her recent adventure. Better close your mouth before you start drooling.” Behind them Sten snorted. Blake didn’t give his friends time to talk before he was herding them out of the Proving area and to Tapster’s. Fortunately the current embargo with the surface meant all the tavern’s few rooms were available. It wasn’t much and they would have to share but they could lock the common sitting area, affording them more privacy than they otherwise would have.

 

Jannasilane sat on a small sofa and began relacing her tunic while her Wardens and the others cleaned up. She thought about Zevran, the Carta, Blake, the old woman and her mother. She thought it was a shame that Owen, the Redcliffe smith, couldn’t work with the dragon scale. Orzammar was quite warm and her Ali was bound to get hot in his heavy armor. As if her thoughts conjured him he came out of their room dressed in simple linen breeches and shirt. He was smiling when he sat down next to her. He fingered her hair, enjoying the silkiness. “I was so worried about you. I’ll never be able to thank Zevran, Leliana and Morrigan enough for finding you.” He moved his hand and began massaging the back of her neck. He enjoyed the way she leaned back into him and purred her satisfaction. He kissed her brow, “you look so pretty and fresh in this dress, like a rose in the morning dew; I didn’t know you had it.”

 

“I didn’t,” she closed her eyes in pleasure, his fingers felt _that_ good. “When we realized the lacings were gone Leliana searched for some other clothes. Most were brown or blue, but this reminded me of my mother. It’s the same color as the dress she was making for me before . . . before she was murdered. Even though the fichu is missing I wanted this one.”

 

“What’s a fichu?” Alistair placed a light kiss at the corner of her eye.

 

“It’s, ooh, that’s nice,” she moaned. “It’s like a delicate scarf to cover my breasts. I can change the look by using different fichus.”

 

“Gesundheit,” he teased. “I like looking at your breasts, and they’re mostly covered. I like thinking about sneaking my hand in there and caressing you.” He was fascinated to see her nipples hardening through the light fabric at his words. He itched to place his mouth there and nuzzle. Instead he shifted her so she was on his lap. The sensation was so much more intimate than when he had his armor on.

 

Jannasilane put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I have a confession to make, my Ali,” she murmured against his lips. “I am so used to wearing my leathers that I feel almost naked in this dress. Even the mage robes are thick, almost as thick as my armor.” She squirmed a little when she felt his manhood stirring underneath her. “I was dazzled watching you in the Proving. You were so graceful and pretty.”

 

“Pretty, was I?” he stopped any answer she might make by kissing her. He tightened his embrace, pressing her against him.

 

“Ugh!” Morrigan spat out the word, “the two of you are making me sick.”

 

“On the contrary, Morrigan, I find them quite inspiring,” Blake suited action to words and bent Zevran back for a sizzling kiss, which the assassin enjoyed returning. Zevran only chuckled when afterwards Blake plucked Jannasilane out of Alistair’s arms and whirled her around in the air. “Thank the Maker our friends found you, Package. We were quite concerned,” then he duplicated Zevran’s actions at the Proving.

 

“I told you he wouldn’t be upset, my dear Morrigan,” the assassin quipped. He did keep a wary eye on Alistair when the warrior stood and approached them.

 

“Morrigan, Zevran, I . . .” words failed him and he quickly pulled Morrigan into his arms for a hard kiss and then he did the same to Zevran, surprising them both. “Thank you for finding her and bringing her back. I don’t know how I can repay you, but I’ll think of something.”

 

“For a start don’t do that again, fool,” Morrigan snapped, hiding the fact she was flustered under an angry demeanor. She hadn’t expected her own response to the templar of all people.

 

Zevran grinned knowingly, “I, on the other hand, would not mind repetition with additions, oh handsome warrior.” He found Alistair’s actions pleasantly surprising, _“He is certainly a man of great passion. I wonder if he would like some more practice . . .”_

 

“Don’t I get a kiss, Alistair?” the pretty redhead teased. For answer Alistair picked her up in a bear hug and kissed her soundly. She had a pretty blush on her cheeks when he put her down. 

 

Sten had been observing from the bedroom doorway, “What is the meaning of all this?” He managed to look both stern and confused.

 

Morrigan sidled up to him, “Is it giving you ideas, my dear Sten, of what it would be like . . . you and I _together?_ ” She merely smiled like an overfed cat when he rebuffed her.

 

Blake’s arm was over Zevran’s shoulders, “Now that everyone is in a good mood, more or less, time to get down to business. We are going to get something to eat and then speak to Dulin Forender, Lord Harrowmont’s man. Hopefully we can get an audience with his lordship. After what happened with Package,” he nodded to her where she was being loosely held by Alistair, “I think he is the more trustworthy. I am not going to directly antagonize Prince Bhelen in case he can still be useful, so there will be no payback. However, we need to be extra careful.”

 

Jannasilane frowned a little as she pondered his words. “But it was the Carta who separated me from the rest of you, not Bhelen or his men,” she stated. 

 

“Yet it was one of Piotin Aeducan’s squad who had your lacings tied around his gauntlet,” Alistair answered, his eyes narrowing in remembered anger.


	48. A Convenient Revenge

Blake hid his glee. There was no other word to better describe what he felt. “Lord Harrowmont, I don’t want any misunderstandings. You can’t promise us any troops unless you are pronounced King of Orzammar and right now the Assembly is deadlocked. The Carta has been increasingly aggressive in the power vacuum and if we, acting on your behalf, shut it down that will give you an advantage in the Assembly. Once you are king you will honor the treaty and we will have our troops.” Surreptitiously Alistair reached for Jannasilane’s hand when Blake mentioned the Carta.

 

“Succinctly put, Grey Warden. My respect for your order is great but I am unable to offer you the assistance you seek until I am crowned King of Orzammar,” replied Harrowmont. He was a dignified older gentleman who seemed sincerely unhappy to be able to give them no more than a conditional promise.

 

“Then we’re off to take care of the Carta,” Blake smiled sunnily. “Your lordship,” he bowed slightly, as to an equal.

 

Once they were out of the Diamond Quarter he rubbed his hands in satisfaction, “How marvelously convenient. Let’s head to Dust Town and kick some Carta ass.”

 

“Looking forward to it,” Alistair agreed, eyes filled with bloodlust and revenge.

 

“I almost feel sorry for them,” Leliana spoke up, getting their attention. “What choices do the Casteless have? Die in the Legion, go to the surface and leave everything they know behind, prostitute themselves, beg or turn to crime. Orzammar does not even recognize them as dwarves.”

 

“That’s . . . a fair point,” Alistair reluctantly conceded.

 

Zevran smiled, “My dear sweet Leliana, your compassion is charming. However I doubt it is the ‘reluctant criminals’ we will be seeking so you need not worry.”

 

“I don’t plan on leveling Dust Town, you know,” Blake said drily. “There’s a big difference between petty thievery and kidnapping. What do you think, Package, you’ve been the most wronged.”

 

“It is truth that the old woman in the shop is perhaps not always the most honest but her fear of the Carta was real. I do not think she wanted to be involved. And she was kind, as much as possible, I think. I remember she helped me clean my head and she brushed my hair while I drank the tea.”

 

“The drugged tea,” Morrigan reminded her impatiently.

 

“Yes, this I know, but she was gentle. She spent much time making sure not to hurt my head and her motions were soothing. Her gentleness was not necessary for the purposes of this Carta. I think the fright Zevran gave her was punishment enough. He was very scary,” Jannasilane concluded.

 

“Thank you, Pocket Goddess,” Zevran bowed over her hand and kissed her fingers just long enough to test Alistair’s patience.

 

Blake’s lips quirked, he couldn’t help it. “And you got a pretty dress out of it. Alright, Package, we’ll go after the leadership and the core of the Carta. The fringes we will leave alone unless they get in our way. I think I know where to start. Oh, and Package, try not to get lost among the dwarves this time.” Morrigan was not the only one who laughed.

 

Nedezda, former Carta member reduced to beggar, gave them what information she could for several silvers. She was one of the few who would say anything at all about the Carta. One group of dwarves confronted them in the tiny shack which was Dust Town’s version of a palace. Once they were dead or gone Blake looked around thoughtfully, “Were they really meant to deter us, I wonder?”

 

“It was rather easy to defeat them, was it not? Surely after your success in the Proving this criminal mastermind would have sent someone more effective?” Zevran suggested.

 

Alistair snorted, “Since we don’t know any other way to find her it looks like we have no other choice but to accept the ‘invitation’ so nicely delivered.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I look forward to squishing their little heads like melons.”

 

“There are bound to be traps within traps. We must be wary.”

 

“Just be careful, Grey Wardens. The Carta’s warrens are bound to be extensive, even labyrinthian.”

 

“As I’ve said before, go after your enemies.”

 

“Grrrrrrrr.” General Lee was ready to sink his teeth into those who attacked one of his people. He’d hated being forced to wait on the sidelines while Blake was fighting. 

 

Once they stepped inside the Carta compound they left all fringe elements behind. These were not reluctant thugs but experienced and deadly criminals. Mercenaries and mages from the surface supplemented their ranks. Jannasilane’s battle song echoed off the stone walls and gave the Wardens’ group a slight edge. Oddly, the dwarves were less affected than the surfacers, leading Wynne to wonder if there was a connection between that and their ability to handle lyrium. _“I’ll have to remember to talk to the Wardens and Jannasilane about that later,”_ she noted to herself as she cast another healing spell.

 

Morrigan grit her teeth in frustration, _“Here I am, a powerful mage, certainly more so than those idiots in the Carta, and even my strongest spells have a diluted impact against these dwarves. Hmm, if I concentrate on environmental spells . . .”_ she cast a pool of grease and set it on fire. _“There, much better. I suppose the Warden knew what he was doing, insisting that all but the Circle cat and I become at least competent with a bow.”_

Progress was slow. They had to get past locked doors and traps of both the physical and magical variety. Carefully they made their way through several winding tunnels and corridors, some connecting and some simply ending. Blake examined the area ahead of them, “I think we’re getting close to Jarvia. These doors are heavier with better locks than we’ve seen so far. I bet the boss lady is behind the middle one, so we’ll take out the supporters first. Left, right, middle,” he whispered.

 

“Ugh, spider guts,” Jannasilane grimaced after the one locked area turned out not to be empty as it first appeared. “At least this time I am not covered, but, eeuw, they do not wash off easily. Let us deal with this Jarvia so I can get to a bath.”

 

“And the smell . . .” Leliana shuddered in agreement.

 

Alistair sighed, “Let’s get this over with.”

 

“The door here is not locked. Is this a good sign or a bad one, I wonder,” Zevran mused.

 

Blake shrugged and smiled sardonically, “Only one way to find out.” He opened the door and they stepped inside. Jarvia waited for them and she was not alone. Blake’s next words wiped the arrogant smile off her face, “You’re looking awfully cocky for someone whose entire organization is gone.”

 

“You’ll pay for their deaths,” Jarvia snarled. She yelled at her men to attack, “but keep the little pretty one alive. I have plans for her.”

 

“Little? I’ll show you little!” Jannasilane yelled and gave forth a battle song fueled by indignation. She fought like one possessed. Zevran was busy disarming all the traps before one of his party could become ensnared and helpless. If he slid a poisoned blade into a back or two, well they shouldn’t have messed with the Wardens. Jarvia demonstrated how she rose to the top level in the Carta. She fought as well and as hard as any soldier Alistair had ever seen. Even Sten was impressed when she once managed to knock him to his knees. 

 

Finally it was over but Jannasilane was still incensed. Hands on her hips she stared down at the still form of the Carta leader, “I am in Orzammar, surrounded by dwarves and _she_ calls _me_ little?” She kicked the woman in annoyance.

 

At first the others just stared at her, and then Leliana started to giggle. When the bard burst out laughing Blake and Zevran joined her, then Morrigan and even Wynne. Sten permitted himself a small smile. When Jannasilane glared at them they just laughed harder. Shale’s rumbling and General Lee’s barks added to the symphony. 

 

Alistair struggled not to chuckle as he approached her, “My love, I think she just meant in comparison to the rest of us to identify you to her men. After all, if she had just said ‘the pretty one’ she might have meant me.”

 

Jannasilane looked at him and sniffed, “Humph, perhaps,” but she took his proffered hand and said no more. 

 

They found another door which led to an upwards sloping tunnel. Hoping it led back to the Commons they followed it. None of them really wanted to retrace their steps back to Dust Town. They moved some rocks which were loosely piled at the end and pushed through a panel. “My store! What have you . . . you put a hole in my wall,” a startled merchant cried in dismay. Blake’s explanation didn’t make him feel any better, the dwarf, Janar, just put his head in his hands and asked them to leave. He got a whiff of Jannasilane and gagged, “You might want to get some Rockbinder’s Brew. They sell it at Tapster’s. It works pretty well to get rid of spider remains; one pass with the ale before cleaning. The apothecary behind Figor’s Imports might have something else.” He stared sadly at the wall of his store, “If word of this gets out . . .”

 

“Leliana, you and Wynne will come with me. The rest of you are too . . . fragrant to call on Lord Harrowmont,” he gestured loosely. “Well, you aren’t,” he spoke directly to Morrigan, “but somebody needs to actually go inside the apothecary shop. I’ll report, we all get cleaned up, we leave.”

 

Blake was silent on the way back to Tapster’s. _“I never should have said we’ll be leaving Orzammar. Or maybe I should have been more specific . . . the Deep Roads. I hope we’re ready,”_ he thought grimly. They didn’t say anything but he could tell Leliana and Wynne were concerned. In the back of the tavern he saw Morrigan and Sten. The witch was smiling to herself and Sten appeared disgruntled. When he got closer he saw General Lee under the table with his paws over muzzle as if he were trying to hide. _“What now?”_ Noticeably absent were Package, Alistair and Zevran. He assumed Shale was avoiding the drunks in the tavern. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. Morrigan’s smile became tinged with malice but she said nothing, though she did glance in the direction of their rooms. 

 

Sten frowned, “I think you will understand soon enough. It is one of the more disturbing things I have experienced since Lothering.” Under the table General Lee whined.

 

Blake exchanged glances with the two women next to him. As soon as he opened the door to the rooms Shale glared(?) at him, “Finally. It has returned. I shall now leave for the sanity of the taproom.” 

 

Leliana put her hands over her ears, “What is that noise?” she complained. 

 

“I think,” Wynne blinked in surprise, “I think that’s Alistair. And he’s singing?”

 

“Right you are, dear lady,” Zevran appeared smiling, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Warden, I regret to inform you there will be a slight delay to your plans.”

 

“Do I want to know what happened?”

 

Zevran chuckled even as he grimaced at Alistair’s off-key and inaccurate rendition of what might have been a romantic ballad. “The Rockbinder’s Brew worked as advertised. The spider remains on blades and weapons? All gone. The apothecary did have something for the skin, but it only works for light contact. He suggested using the ale, quickly rinsing, and then finishing with his solution. The rest of us did as he suggested and are pleasantly clean and aromatic. Alistair . . . well, he is making up for his many years in the Chantry.”

 

Blake relaxed and grinned, “Go on.”

 

“As you will recall the beautiful pocket goddess received the bulk of the spiders’ attentions both before and after their demise. The ale needed to cover quite a bit of her smooth skin. Well, Alistair was already out of his armor and decided to take advantage of their mutual lack of attire to taste ale-flavored Pocket Goddess before she rinsed.”

 

“But dwarven ale is so very strong,” Leliana giggled. 

 

Wynne smiled, “And Alistair does not have a lot of practice with alcoholic beverages.”

 

Zevran bowed, “You are both quite correct. Although I am sure it was more than a kiss or two. I believe they may even have partaken of a small glass. The first I knew something was wrong was when Pocket Goddess started to yell at him, telling him she was not a bird. Naturally I opened the door to come to her assistance; dealing with drunks sometimes needs a bit of skill. He was teasing her, telling her that since she was so little she could surely perch on his manhood like a bird. I believe he specifically mentioned a sparrow.”

 

“He didn’t.”

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“It is the truth, I swear on my honor as an Antivan and former Crow. To continue, I successfully managed to get Alistair’s attention and he stopped what he was doing to pick her up in his arms. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘it’s . . . Hi Zev. Blake thinks he’s pretty, don’t you think he’s pretty, Janna? Though not as pretty as you.’ At which point he proceed to . . . well I suppose he thinks he is serenading her though his musical selections appear to veer between the romantic and the surprisingly bawdy. I did not think he knew such songs.  Pocket Goddess was in no danger and I thought it best to retreat but remain available, after removing all sharp and breakable objects. And now you are here.”

 

Blake was laughing so hard that tears came to his eyes. “If you ladies would fill in the rest of the group I will join you later. Zev, my pretty lover, you better come in with me. I might need help.” He waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated motion.

 

Leliana and Wynne were left staring at the door after Blake quickly pushed Zevran inside and locked the door, “I do not know if I am glad or sorry that I didn’t get to see Alistair drunk.” 

 

“Now I know why Morrigan was smiling,” Wynne shook her head while contemplating what spells or potions would be the best cure for the hangovers the two inside would undoubtedly have. 

 

Blake and Zevran leaned against the door with arms crossed taking in the scene in front of them. Alistair was still singing, a bit more quietly and rocking back and forth on his feet. His back was to the door. Package was in his arms, her head on his shoulders and he was stroking her hair. Her hands were behind his head and moving to music, just not the same music. Blake and Zevran took a moment to enjoy the view of such a well-made man. “He’s not as pretty as you are,” Blake whispered quietly.

 

“You know, my dear Warden, in my line of work I sometimes need to alter my appearance. If I were an evil man I would suggest now is a good time to give one of those firm cheeks a small tattoo. I may have some hair and skin dye of the temporary variety . . .” Zevran answered just as quietly, eyes twinkling with mischief.

 

Blake grinned in response, “Tempting, very tempting. Ah well,” he cleared his throat, “I’m back from Lord Harrowmont.”

 

Alistair slowly whirled around a bit unsteadily. The two rogues leapt forward ready to catch the woman in his arms if the big man lost control but he held on. “Jannashilane, my love. He’sh back, Blake ish back.”

 

“I don’t see him,” she complained, her voice slurred.

 

“That’sh cuzh you, you’re drunk,” he answered.

 

“Mmmm, thish ish truth, how . . .” she rested her head back on Alistair’s shoulder without finishing her sentence.

 

Very carefully, very slowly Alistair stopped rocking and started moving, “Gotta . . . gotta put my shweet Janna to bed. Musht . . . lie . . . down now.” With the deliberation of the very drunk he laid his beloved on the bed and crawled next to her. “G’night,” he muttered, “Glad . . . meeting went . . . well.” 


	49. Welcome to the Deep Roads

Aeducan Thaig wasn’t difficult to maneuver. Not only was it close to Orzammar it was one of the last thaigs to fall to the darkspawn corruption. The regular patrols kept their presence to a minimum. Fortunately for the Wardens going through the old thaig helped them find their ‘Warden balance’ before they reached the darker, stronger miasma of darkspawn in Caridin’s Cross. It was difficult at first for them to distinguish living darkspawn against the tapestry of memories clinging to the stone.

 

“Is this what dwarves mean when they say the Stone remembers?” Alistair asked Oghren, grimacing slightly at the onslaught against his Warden senses. He had a new respect for Riordan’s commander and was more resolved than ever to ask the older Warden to help re-establish the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.

 

“Yup,” Oghren, they quickly learned, was more comfortable answering straightforward, yes-or-no questions than any other. “So, you and the Warden can sense the dead ones, too? And sexy, little Cherryplum, even though she’s not a Grey Warden?” He didn’t really care, but he didn’t want to think about Branka too much now that they were going to find her. It hurt.

 

“Why do you persist in calling her ‘Cherryplum?’” Alistair asked in some exasperation.

 

Oghren looked up at him in disbelief, “Because she’s small, round in all the right places and bursting with sweet juiciness. If you don’t know that you’re doing something wrong, boy,” he snorted. “I’ll take her off your hands if she’s too much woman for ya,” he offered with a leer.

 

Alistair closed his eyes and prayed to the Maker to give him patience, “Not a chance, not ever.” He took a deep breath and changed the subject, “About the darkspawn, we don’t sense the dead ones like they were ghosts or something. It’s difficult to explain . . . I think of it kind of like a building filled with just your thoughts and memories. You can move from one room to the next and everything is yours. After you’re a Warden these things keep trying to intrude and sometimes even get in. You always feel them yelling or growling at you, see them trying to attack you, hear their scritching as they try to get in. When we’re on the surface we quickly learn to pinpoint where they’re coming from. They stand out in our minds like a bleeding sore pulsing with malevolence. Down here, it feels like a foul smelling fog surrounds us, like rotten eggs, the essence of all the darkspawn which were here before. It’s thicker here than in Aeducan thaig. We can still sense the darkspawn but not as clearly, like the way sounds in a fog are sometimes distorted. We need to focus differently, using more energy. It’s . . . unpleasant.”

 

“Huh,” Oghren replied thoughtfully and took another swig from his flask.

 

Jannasilane joined them. She stood close to Alistair, “I do not like this place, my Ali. The scent of so much darkspawn makes me sneeze. Oghren, are we close to finding Ortan thaig?” She relaxed a little when Alistair brushed his hands over her hair.

 

“You can tell the Warden we’re getting closer, Cherryplum,” he openly ogled the small woman leaning against the over-sized human. He liked curves on a woman. “If you ever get tired of the boy here and want to try a real man, just let me know.”

 

She blinked, “Um, I do not see this happening but thank you,” she added politely.

 

“Maker,” Alistair breathed out while rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was no use saying something to the dwarf; he didn’t seem to understand the meaning of the word ‘appropriate.’ He once again scanned the area with all his senses, “Darkspawn around the corner.”

 

Oghren once again demonstrated why he had earned honors as a warrior. It wasn’t a large group but the others hardly had time to draw their blades before he was done. Once the creatures were dead around him he stood his axe on its head and leaned on the handle, eyeing Jannasilane with a certain respect. “That scream of yours sure came in handy. Never met anybody who could out-shriek a shriek, my ears are still ringing.”

 

“We have some extra earrings . . .” Jannasilane began.

 

“Earrings! What self-respecting warrior wears earrings?” he bellowed in disgust.

 

“Those whose ears are not ringing,” Sten answered him.

 

Zevran piped in, “Yes, all the stylish fighters who do not wish the battle song of the lovely Pocket Goddess to pound in their heads wear earrings enchanted by Wynne of the magical bosom. If you are concerned about your manhood I am sure there are some very plain ones you might find acceptable. Unless you prefer something more sparkly and dainty.”

 

“Huh,” Oghren snorted in disgust. He peered sideways at the older mage, “Magical bosom? Never heard of one of those. Hmmm, does it-”

 

“Stop right there, dwarf,” Wynne commanded. “He’s just being irritating. You should be warned he has a habit of stirring things up for his own amusement. Now, do you want the earrings or not?”

 

Oghren eyed Jannasilane speculatively, “So, Cherryplum, you gonna shriek like that all the time? Never mind, of course you are. Gonna be a lot more darkspawn. Hmm, well, alright. But only while we’re down here fighting, you understand.” He muttered something about surfacers and their strange habits. He stood still while Leliana and Jannasilane inserted the earrings. He enjoyed their closeness; it had been quite some time since a woman’s soft curves were so close. He took the opportunity to pinch their bottoms before they could move away.

 

Alistair grit his teeth. “She’s tough. After all, she survived dwarven ale,” Blake reminded him with a sly grin. Alistair wrinkled his nose at the reminder but didn’t respond. Blake admired the architectural details he could see through the depredations of the darkspawn. “The roadway must have been grand at one time,” he mused. “The dwarves certainly deserve their reputation for masonry.”

 

When they rejoined the others they heard Oghren talking to Morrigan, “. . . all the things I could do to you.”

 

“Ugh, Warden, he’s leering at me again,” the witch complained.

 

“Morrigan, you know what they say: those who can, do and those who can’t, leer,” Blake advised.

 

“What? Hey . . . why you . . .” Oghren huffed.

 

“I understood darkspawn were more driven during Blight, but I didn’t expect them to be quite so smart or tactical. On the surface we ran into some, but mostly they were grunts. Down here, and at Ostagar, they set traps, use ballistae and even have domesticated brontos,” Blake noticed.

 

“I wish I’d had time to learn more about them, but we were so busy getting ready to fight the Blight on the surface . . . it was one of those things we were supposed to have time for later.” Alistair frowned, “Maybe they’re smarter down here in the Deep Roads because they’re that much closer to the Archdemon or maybe they’ve always been intelligent but not as driven. I think I like the former answer better.”

 

“Whoever told you darkspawn were dumb didn’t know what they were talking about. I thought you two were Wardens? Sure, most darkspawn aren’t much on thinking but they breed faster than a noble hunter can clean your pockets. That means enough smart ones to cause trouble. Course you could be right that there are more of ‘em because of the Archdemon,” Oghren shrugged. He didn’t really care why. He only cared about finding Branka, “By my reckoning the old road to Ortan thaig should be down here some.” He looked around at the ruins, shaking his head sadly, “You wouldn’t believe it to look at it but this was once one of the main crossroads for the dwarven empire. If you were going to any major thaig or city you probably were going to come through here. Ah, sod it.” The dwarf gruffly pushed forward and led the way out of Caridin’s Cross.

 

Ortan thaig was . . . different. So many ruins infested with spiders. Jannasilane shuddered. Oghren was enthusiastic. “Look at these marks, Branka was definitely here. If she were still here she’d have lookouts; she always was a bit paranoid. At least we know we’re on the right track. Let’s go.”

 

“Ghostly dwarves? Aren’t spiders, deepstalkers and darkspawn enough?” Morrigan complained after they fought their way through living threats to get to the heart of the ruined thaig.

 

“The Stone remembers. I’ll have to tell the Shaperate the memories can attack as well,” Oghren muttered while swinging his battle-axe. Afterwards they came across an odd dwarf by the name of Ruck. Whatever his crimes in the past he was paying for them now. He’d fled into the Deep Roads and fed on darkspawn flesh to survive. His mind was rotting, he was at least halfway to being a ghoul and he was barely scraping out a lonely pathetic existence in Branka’s old campsite, determined not to face up to his crimes and bring shame to his mother. With patient conversation the Warden was able to get some clues about Branka. Varying degrees of pity and disgust were predominant in the subdued group that left the twisted dwarf. Zevran even suggested that killing him would be the merciful action but Blake wouldn’t make that decision.

 

Finally their perseverance was rewarded. They found one of Branka’s journals among a few other items. She detailed where they were next headed, ‘in case we don’t make it, someone should know.’ Oghren’s homely face lit with joy when she took the trouble to mention him. Not even the fact that they would have to head to the Deep Trenches, now called the Dead Trenches because of the hordes of darkspawn living there, could dim his happiness. “Looks like we’ll see Bownammar after all. Branka’s tough as the nails she makes; if anybody can survive the darkspawn this long she can. Let’s move. Cherryplum, get ready to sing,” the dwarven warrior didn’t wait to see if the others were coming or not.

 


	50. Horror and Betrayal

Alistair knew he would never forget his first view of the Dead Trenches. Later he would be able to describe it in great detail. _“. . . We were tired and dirty after days of traveling small roads in an effort to avoid the larger darkspawn groups. There were so few of us, only two of us Grey Wardens, we couldn’t take the risk. Remember, we had to stay alive in order to fight the Archdemon. Being killed by an ogre in the Deep Roads was **not** an option. We came out on a high ledge overlooking . . . well, overlooking a trench. Maker! There were so many darkspawn, thousands at least. That trench, so far underground, was as bright as the noonday sun from the number of torches being carried. I felt my Janna trembling and pulled her against me. She wasn’t scared like I thought; she seemed to be listening for something. Then we, Blake and I, felt it: a roaring in our heads and a wind blowing over the horde below. The Archdemon had arrived . . .” Alistair would always pause then before continuing. _

 

The Archdemon was exhorting its troops to fight and destroy its enemies, to demolish everything and everyone in their path. They responded with grunts and shouts of approval and marched out. When the Archdemon flew away it glided right by the Wardens. Alistair got the distinct impression it was taunting them, laughing at them, letting them know it wasn’t worried about them at all. It gave a contemptuous flick of its tail as it turned away. Alistair hadn’t felt so small in years. He looked at his fellow Warden, Blake was just as grim. For what seemed like hours but was barely minutes none of them moved, the enormity of their task and burden weighing them down.

 

Jannasilane broke the spell. She pulled Alistair’s face down to hers and held it firmly in her hands. She looked into his eyes and spoke fiercely, “Now is not the time, my Ali, but you will defeat the beast. This is truth,” and she kissed him hard on the mouth for emphasis before letting him go.

 

Blake’s expression lightened, “I’m glad you didn’t jump on top of the dragon this time, Package.”

 

“I have grown up since then,” she responded with dignity. At that the others chuckled in amusement, except Oghren who looked confused.

 

“My friend recently discovered she likes fighting dragons. She jumped right on top of a high dragon before we could even blink,” Leliana explained.

 

“A most glorious sight to be sure,” Zevran confirmed.

 

Oghren guffawed, “A little thing like her?”

 

Jannasilane stamped her foot, “I am not little!”

 

The dwarf looked her up and down, leering, “No, you’re not little.”

 

That bit of byplay gave them all a chance to settle and they went forward in a much better frame of mind. Their task was daunting, the Legion of the Dead couldn’t help and the Deep Trenches were huge. The small group traveled a long ways before they found their next clue although Oghren might have wished they didn’t. They heard a voice, saying the same thing over and over in a creepy, sing-song chant:

 

_“First day, they come and catch everyone._

_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._

_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._

_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate._

_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn._

_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._

_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._

_Eighth day, we hate it as she is violated._

_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._

_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast._

_Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams.”_

They finally found the source, a female dwarf called Hespith. Branka’s captain and lover turned ghoul. She hinted at Branka’s involvement but wouldn’t, or couldn’t, explain further than that and ran from them, deeper into the Trenches, rather than say any more. They could hear her repeating her litany in the distance. Oghren grumbled about making changes if knew of Branka’s ‘interests’ but Jannasilane didn’t believe him. Or not totally, she saw the hurt he tried to hide. She didn’t say anything but from that moment she disliked Branka intensely. The warrior was coarse, rude, unhygienic, frequently irritating and a bit lecherous but he was not a bad man. He was a good fighter even drunk. Whatever problems Branka had with her husband he did not deserve to be publicly humiliated.

 

They made their way into Bownammar. “Never thought I’d see this place,” an unusual reverence colored Oghren’s voice. The others thought Bownammar was a spooky and eerie place but far worse awaited them.

 

Beyond Bownammar they faced a horror they didn’t expect, the meaning of Hespith’s litany. _“An immense blob, a giant congealed pudding on top of an angry octopus,”_ was how Alistair described it. “ _We could tell it was female only because of the numerous, ummm, er, pairs of breasts it had. One pair stacked above another. And the smell . . . think of the worst thing you’ve ever smelled, add it to the darkspawn and you still won’t be close. I think we all suffered nightmares for weeks after that.”_

 

The creature trapped them in her lair with a tentacle fence blocking off any exits. More tentacles popped up from the ground and smacked them around and ‘she’ vomited poison at them when they got close enough. The layers of fat acted as armor, absorbing a lot of damage without the creature being significantly harmed. When her guards joined the creature Jannasilane’s battle song rang out, echoing off the walls of the small chamber. A tentacle erupted from behind her, grabbing her and throwing her into the darkspawns’ grasp. Only her quickness allowed her to escape and from that moment she made lightning attacks and moved away. Finally their efforts paid off and with one last foul emission the creature sagged, lifeless. In the quiet that followed their victory the only sound was heavy breathing.

 

“What . . . what _was_ that?” Leliana asked shakily. Even the Wardens weren’t much better.

 

Hespith answered from a rafter above, “Broodmother. It’s why they need us, why they hate us, why they feed us. With the men, they’re merciful. The women they want, to touch and mold, to change until you are filled with them like they changed Laryn. They forced her to eat our friends. She drank her husband’s blood. She ate and grew; she swelled and turned grey and smelled like them. They remade her in their image and she made more of them. And Branka,” Hespith choked, “I am dying of something worse, dream friend, betrayal.” She turned away from them and disappeared behind the ledge over the former dwarf, Laryn. They never saw her again; all Zevran found when he ran up the ledge was a deep drop.

 

“Branka _allowed_ her house to be turned into darkspawn?” Blake asked incredulously.

 

Oghren was reeling from Hespith’s revelations, “She must be wrong. Genlocks come from dwarven broodmothers, shrieks from elves, hurlocks from humans and ogres from Qunari. Branka knew this. She hates darkspawn with a passion, she couldn’t have . . . that water-tart Hespith’s mind is gone and she, she misunderstood. That’s gotta be it. Our entire house, over two hundred dwarves, no, she must be wrong. She has to be.”

 

Alistair pitied the dwarf. He didn’t say anything, didn’t know what anybody could say. He believed Hespith and thought Oghren did as well even if he didn’t want to admit it.

 

Staring at the immense body before them in horror Jannasilane made a request, “Kill me before that can happen. Promise me that if captured you will make sure they cannot turn me into . . . into _that._ ” Leliana nodded in agreement. Neither Blake nor Alistair wanted to think of having to make that decision but knew it was one promise they couldn’t avoid. Fortunately Jannasilane didn’t seem to expect an answer. Alistair’s arms wrapping around her was reassurance enough. Even though Morrigan said nothing she fully agreed with the toy; death would be infinitely preferable.

 

_“I hope we don’t require Branka’s assistance. I’d rather take her dead body back to Orzammar than cooperate with someone so psychotic. Even if we find her alive I’m not sure we can trust her to honor any agreement. Oghren’s opinion is worthless, he hasn’t seen her for at least two years and doesn’t want to believe she’s a murderer,”_ Blake thought as they trudged forward. _“This tunnel better lead to something.”_

 

“Does it still plan on finding this Branka? She does not seem to be the most dependable sort of ally,” Shale asked Blake.

 

“We need the dwarves for our army. That means finding Branka whether she still lives or not.”

 

“She’s alive,” Oghren said, annoyed at the thought, “if that Hespith stayed alive then Branka did. She has a fierce determination to find the Anvil of the Void, a will of steel. She’s alive, and will be wary. Look out for traps and the like.”

 

The air around them seemed to beat down on them, encouraging them to turn back. Only their strong determination kept them going forward. When they heard a stone clang behind them Oghren, who’d been quiet since the broodmother, jumped, “What was that?” He got his answer when a figure appeared on top of a high wall. “Branka?!” he yelled as joy filled his homely face.

 

“Oghren, what a surprise,” she answered flatly. “And who is this with you, some lord’s lackey?”

 

“Be respectful, woman, these are Grey Wardens . . .” Oghren sputtered angrily.

 

Branka sneered, making Jannasilane want to fly up and tear the woman’s tongue out, “Oh, a high up lackey then. I don’t care why they’re here; I suppose the little lordlings are battling for position. The only thing that matters is the Anvil of the Void and reclaiming our territory, our glory.”

 

“Does that include sacrificing Hespith and the rest of your house?” Blake’s tone was light but he didn’t bother to hide the contempt from showing in his eyes, she was too far away to see it.

 

Branka bridled, “There’s only one way out, Warden. And that’s forward. Let’s see if you’re as clever as those of your order are reputed to be.” They could hear her justifications and warnings about traps as they moved on. Fortunately they were able to leave her behind quickly enough.

 

“Caridin was quite clever, if these traps are any indication. They are quite unusual,” Leliana observed.

 

“They don’t make somebody a paragon for no reason,” Oghren huffed.

 

“Can the Assembly vote to un-paragon somebody?” Jannasilane thought that if anybody deserved such a dishonor it was Branka.

 

Oghren shook his head, “Nah. Once it’s done it’s done. The Assembly may be more cautious in the future, though. What is that?” he pointed his axe at what appeared to be a giant head. When they got close enough its eyes started to glow and the ghosts of dwarven warriors appeared. “This ain’t no trick of the stone. Must be one of Caridin’s gimmicks. Crazy smith . . .” The others were left to guess as to which smith he meant.

 

Finally they were past all the traps. They stepped down one narrow corridor and came face to face with a golem, a golem named Caridin. “Caridin, the Paragon smith? The Anvil of the Void is what we seek. Did you create me?”

 

“Shale? Is that truly you? You were one of the most loyal and strong dwarves to volunteer, and the only woman. It is good to see you again,” if a steel golem could smile then Caridin was smiling. Shale was dumbfounded by the realization she was a she and once was one of those small squishy creatures. She certainly didn’t remember. They all listened intently as Caridin explained why he wanted the Anvil destroyed.

 

Blake eyed Caridin as he considered the other’s request. _“I agree that the Anvil is an unfortunate invention. Enslaving living creatures to an eternity of service, no I don’t like that. He **is** a Paragon. Certainly he appears to be a lot more reasonable than Branka. Since Harrowmont really didn’t seem to care if I found Branka dead or alive something from a living Caridin should be as good as the bones of a dead Branka.” _ He nodded his head, “If you can help me with the Assembly we have a deal. Now -”

 

Branka came barreling up behind them, full of anger and defiance. “No! The Anvil is mine!” No explanation or appeal to reason or decency mattered. Her obsession had obliterated everything. When the Warden defied her she yanked out a control rod of her own, “Caridin’s not the only master smith here. Golems, obey me, attack!” Oghren hesitated only briefly before joining the fight against his wife.

 

Shale and Jannasilane each made straight for the mad dwarva. The others could take care of the golems easily enough; at least Branka could only use the control rod on some of the golems. Paragon Caridin was immobilized and could only watch the battle from behind his steel prison. Branka was fast, almost as fast as Jannasilane. She may have been a smith but she’d learned a few tricks that made her seem almost magical, at one point Jannasilane and Shale were surrounded by Branka replicas, each one able to attack independently. When Branka finally lay dead on the ground the golems controlled by her froze in place, looking like Shale in Honnleath.

 

Caridin was unfrozen by her death. He sighed as he looked at the carnage, “More death because of my creation. I shall create a crown for you to take back and give to the contender of your choice. I wish to know nothing about it. All I want is your word that you will destroy the Anvil as discussed.”

 

“If you do this you will be throwing away a major advantage,” Morrigan warned.

 

Alistair shook his head, “It enslaves living souls. It must be destroyed.” He was adamant.

 

Zevran shrugged elegantly, “Living souls are enslaved all the time. Many of them are called peasants.”

 

“How would you like it if I made you into a golem? Wouldn’t you like to be as strong and powerful as Shale?” Blake lifted an eyebrow at his lover. He wondered if Zevran really was so nonchalant about the issue or if he was just being, well, just being Zev.

 

An airy wave and dramatic sigh prefaced Zevran’s answer, “You would wish to destroy the perfection standing before you? And to give up all the delights I can offer in my current form? Do as you wish.”

 

Blake gave a slight bow to the lithe elf before turning back to Caridin. “Done,” Blake agreed. He watched the Paragon golem walk up a narrow ledge where the Anvil shone with an odd light. While Caridin worked he moved to Oghren’s side where the dwarf was standing by his wife’s body. “I’m sorry it turned out this way, Oghren.”

 

“Always knew the Anvil would kill her but she wouldn’t listen to anybody else. Stupid woman.” Even his beard braids seemed to droop as he stared at the woman he married years ago. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin to look the Warden in the eye, “Reckon I’ll come with you to the surface. You young whelps could use somebody who knows something about darkspawn. I’m a warrior, fighting is what I do best. If them creatures are moving to the surface then that’s where I should be, at least for now. I had some surface ale once. I’d like to try a bit more of it, though it lacks the kick of some of our special brews.” His expression dared the Warden to refuse him.

 

Blake considered the warrior before him. Oghren was annoying but greatly skilled. He was bound to irritate Morrigan, which was both a plus and a minus but should at least be entertaining. Maker knew he could use a little amusement. His mother would have been appalled but he rather thought his father would have understood. He could understand the other man wanting to get away from Orzammar, at least until the memories became less painful. “Very well, Oghren, you are welcome to come with us. Another skilled warrior will be very useful to have with us.” He carefully kept his expression blank as the warrior went to Morrigan. He couldn’t hear what he said but the dark-haired witch’s expression was priceless. He turned away before she could look at him.

 

“Are you sure?” Alistair asked quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, even drunk he’s a better fighter than many I’ve seen. But will he be too . . .” he stopped speaking when he saw an exchange between the b-witch and the dwarf. His hazel eyes warmed with appreciation, “Of course this might mean Morrigan won’t talk to me as much. I withdraw my hesitations.”

 

Blake snorted, “Good to know you have your price, Alistair.” Alistair flushed a little but grinned before returning to Jannasilane and Leliana. Blake saw that Caridin was almost done and walked up the ledge to join him. When he got there he looked down and felt a little dizzy looking into the swirling stream of boiling lava.

 

“It is done,” Caridin pronounced and gave him the crown. Blake looked it over appreciatively; it was a thing of great beauty. He carefully set it down and picked up the largest hammer he could find. He struck the Anvil once, twice, then thrice before it cracked open with a sound of thunder. He dropped the hammer among the wreckage and stared at it, hoping he’d done the right thing. He looked up as the ancient Paragon moved beside him. Caridin didn’t say anything while he stepped to the edge and then leaned forward so he could fall and be swallowed up by the lava below.

 

“Stone guide you and may you achieve the death and rest you seek,” Blake whispered. The Warden picked up the crown and slowly walked down the path to join the others where they were gathered around some large sign. “What’s this?”

 

“It’s the names of all Caridin’s volunteers. The Shaper would brown his drawers to get a copy of this,” Oghren whooped.

 

“If there is some way to make a copy I could perhaps study it later. It might help me remember something,” Shale rumbled. She was still disconcerted to find out she used to be a dwarf, knowledge which would take some getting used to.

 

Alistair moved forward, “Might as well. It won’t take but a minute and we’re here now.” He took out some paper and made some rubbings. “That should do it, one for the Shaper and one for us.”

“Let’s hope this big hunk of metal can still be of use to us,” Blake was in a sour mood.

 

Oghren grunted, “Well aren’t you in a pissy mood.” He sneered his contempt of the nobles, “Those deshyrs have been trying to destroy the city for years. Haven’t managed it yet. Are you ready to go or are we going to stay here and jabber like old women?”

 

A couple of days later they were finally out of Orzammar. “I never thought I’d find rain so beautiful,” Blake remarked as the icy downpour sliced through them. _“We’d have been gone sooner if Bhelen and his supporters didn’t smuggle weapons into the Assembly in case the vote didn’t go their way. At least we have our troops. Hopefully I won’t see the inside of Orzammar for a long time.”_

Oghren stopped to squint up at the sky. “Give me a moment. That sky, it seems to go on forever, so bright, and wet,” he sputtered. “Makes me feel a bit dizzy.”

 

“Take your time, I want you in top fighting condition,” Blake replied.

 

“Right you are, Warden, right you are. Well,” Oghren shouldered his axe, “let’s make whatcha call it, daylight.”

 


	51. Oghren Conquers the Surface

“So, what do you do with her legs?”

 

Alistair blinked, “Whose legs?”

 

Oghren snorted, “You and Cherryplum . . . dwarven legs aren’t much use as accessories. She’s almost as short but her legs are longer.”

 

“I didn't do anything with them. I don't know what--”

 

“Ah, say no more. Just got 'em outta the way and went about your business. Good on you, son,” the dwarf chuckled.

 

Alistair reddened and hoped Jannasilane couldn’t hear their conversation, “Uhm. Thanks.”

 

Oghren was adjusting to the surface surprisingly well, as long as nobody talked too much about the sky. He leered, ogled and propositioned his female companions on a regular basis. He took delight in teasing Alistair, trying to see just how red he could make the younger man blush. He wouldn’t admit it but he had a lot of respect for the fighting abilities of the people he found himself traveling with, _“When it comes to fighting there isn’t a nug-humper in the bunch. The Warden is smart to let the kid take the lead on the battlefield. Ha! I don’t think the pike-twirler even knows he’s doing it. He’s got a nose; he’ll be a general one day if he toughens up some. Heh heh, I can help him with that. Whoever heard of a general blushing like a little girl? Speaking of little girls . . .”_ He watched Cherryplum approach him. It was obvious even to him that she and Alistair loved each other and that the Warden was carrying on with the elf, although he didn’t like to think of that. Dwarves just didn’t do that, certainly not openly. _“I’m on the surface now; they do things different up here. Better get used to it. She seems like a nice girl, though,_ so what are you doin’ sharing a tent with both Wardens?”

 

Jannasilane stopped midstride, eyes and mouth wide open, “What?”

 

“Did I say that out loud? Sorry, I was just thinking and trying to understand things up here. Is it normal for one woman to be with two men? In Orzammar that might happen with noble hunters but not decent women like you.” Oghren tried not to be embarrassed. The last thing he wanted to do was offend the one woman who stood up for him against Branka and tried to be nice to him. His ears turned as red as his beard, “Look, it’s none of my business. You don’t gotta answer. Umm, did you want something?”

 

“I suppose it does seem strange,” Jannasilane struggled to talk calmly despite her discomfort. She’d been dreading the day somebody asked her about their unusual arrangement. “My Ali talked to you about the darkspawn in a Warden’s head.”

 

“Yup. Sounds rather nasty,” he added.

 

Jannasilane nodded her head, “Yes. And it is hard to sleep when your enemy finds it easier to get at you. It is even worse during a Blight. Blake had no time to build up his defenses or even learn how before all the other Grey Wardens were killed at Ostagar. Somehow being close to me blocks some of that. Perhaps this is because I am the daughter of a Grey Warden even though I am not one myself. My poor Wardens suffered from not sleeping until we discovered by accident that I am a, I suppose you would call it a natural buffer while they sleep. Ferelden needs them healthy and alert. So for now . . .” she awkwardly shrugged, hoping this conversation was done.

 

“So it’s sleep, not sex,” Oghren pondered. “Even though you and the kid are bucking the wild bronto?”

 

“That came later.” Jannasilane blushed furiously. “What was it like, being a warrior in Orzammar?” She was not going to say one more word about her sleeping arrangements or her relationships with the Wardens. To his credit Oghren didn’t push for more information. Didn’t stop him a few days later from asking if he would get to sleep with her if he were a Warden but he showed some restraint even then. He almost felt at home when she hit him; Branka might have used a hammer but still . . .

 

Blake fell into step beside Oghren and Sten, “Oghren, we’ll be in Denerim soon. We used up a lot of our supplies in the Deep Roads and need to restock. I don’t know if you know this or not but Loghain has a price out on our heads, so it would be best if you don’t say anything about traveling with Grey Wardens.”

 

“Has he been swilling too much bad ale or was he always crazed as a deepstalker? Doesn’t he know Wardens are needed against the darkspawn?” Oghren scowled.

 

Blake answered, his tone dry as dust, “Apparently he’s not a believer. And we’re in his way. I would prefer not to kill anybody who might be useful later so just keep a low profile.”

 

“Hey, is that a dig about my height?” Oghren narrowed his eyes at the younger, **taller** man. Next to him Sten snorted. It might have seemed an odd pairing to some but the two warriors got along quite well. Possibly because neither was that interested in talking a lot, something that could not be said about the rest of the Warden’s companions. Or it could be because they were both strangers in a land of humans.

 

“You wish him to comment about what is not there?” Sten offered helpfully. Blake left the two of them jabbing at each other.

 

“Oghren is adjusting to the surface surprisingly well,” Zevran remarked. “Although I believe the added variety of alcoholic beverages now available to him might be helping. I have met a few dwarves recently come to the surface and they were definitely more skittish than our warrior friend.”

 

Blake looked back at the dwarf, “I dare say leering at the women and annoying Wynne help take his mind off the sky above his head. I remember Alistair telling me once about one of the other Wardens who could out drink the rest of them put together. He and Oghren would have gotten along though I doubt there’d be any ale left for anybody else.”

 

“Yes, and he seems to have a ready supply though I wonder where he keeps it,” Zevran said lightly as he studied the dwarf. “On second thought perhaps I do not wish to know.”

 

 _“We’ll be talking about the blasted weather next,”_ Blake mentally groused. To the casual observer they were as comfortable in each other’s company as always but ever since he tried to spend the entire night with Zevran things had been a little off between them. _“The Deep Roads and the exercises I’ve been doing with Alistair help, but I still had nightmares without Package. It’s a good thing Zev is tough and quick because I might have hurt him when I started thrashing.”_

Zevran was also thinking of that night, _“I was surprised when the Warden asked to stay. Now I understand why he didn’t do so before; those nightmares of his are fearsome things. My ribs are still bruised; fortunately I am quick and a light sleeper. Pocket Goddess must be stronger than I imagined, though I daresay that large tent makes it easier to avoid blows. Still . . .”_

 

“So, uh, Warden,” Oghren cornered Blake after they set up camp for the night, “we’re friends right? I was wondering, is there any way we could look up a girl I know who moved to the surface? I’m sure she’s done being mad by now. It would be nice to talk to somebody who knows . . . you know.” The dwarf actually scuffled his feet and wouldn’t look the Warden in the eyes.

 

Blake raised an eyebrow, “An old girlfriend? Any idea where she might be? We’re not going everywhere in Ferelden, you know. Even if it seems like it at times.”

 

“I ain’t stupid,” the warrior sputtered. “She works at an inn on Lake Calmebad, something like that. It’s near that Circle of Mages the old lady lives in.”

 

“Lake Calenhad. Fine, next time we’re in the area we can look for her.”

 

Oghren grinned, “Good on you, Warden. I’ll think of you when we . . . eh, no, that’d be kind of gross.” The dwarf disappeared into his tent leaving Blake with a pained look on his face. He shook his head to clear it of all mental images Oghren’s words created.

 

A couple of days later Blake and Alistair were hunting together. Jannasilane had volunteered to watch camp while the others looked for herbs and game. She decided to take advantage of the quiet to clean and air out her and the Wardens’ bedrolls and some other domestic chores. Zevran stayed behind as well. He wanted to think about the Warden and what happened the other night without interruptions. Other than asking him to help her tie some rope between trees so she could hang blankets and furs for airing she was quiet. He wasn’t used to such a companionable and soothing silence with a woman and he felt himself more and more relaxed, more able to focus his thoughts.

 

“I thought you’d jump at the chance for some alone time with Zevran,” Alistair remarked.

 

“I didn’t see you making any efforts to stay behind with Package,” Blake said irritably.

 

“She told me to go away. She said we might not notice the state of our bedclothes but she was tired of waiting to see if they would run away in the night. Then she gave me that look. I thought Morrigan could say a lot with an eyebrow but my Janna is pretty good at it too.” Alistair grinned as he thought of her, the way she looked up at him with that fierce look in her eye and daring him to disobey. His grin faded and he looked at his friend more closely. Contrary to what most people thought he was quite observant, at least when it came to his friends. It hadn’t escaped his notice that after the night Blake spent with Zevran they hadn’t hooked up again. Neither man seemed terribly happy. Talking with Blake could be slippery so he decided to be blunt, “What happened with you and Zevran? I would have thought spending the night instead of just a few hours together would make you happier, not tenser. And don’t deny it. Janna and I both noticed.”

 

Blake snarled at his friend, “It’s none of your concern, Alistair. Shouldn’t you be happy I’m not with the _assassin?”_ Alistair blinked at the venom in the words but didn’t answer. He just set his chin and waited. Blake rubbed his temples, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on you. I just thought, I thought I could finally spend the night. I don’t like leaving him, as if he was a convenience and nothing more. Those meditation exercises have helped a lot and I can use my Warden sense more effectively. Instead I had another nightmare and . . . damn it. I lashed out, kicked him in the ribs before I could wake up. It’s only luck I didn’t actually hurt him,” he finished bitterly.

 

Alistair frowned, “You didn’t have that problem when . . . before we reunited with Janna in Denerim. Was this just a Grey Warden nightmare or something else?”

 

“You’re right. Neither of us slept well but . . . hmmm,” Blake tried to think back to before the nightmare. “We had just -” he caught the look on the templar’s face, “never mind, I won’t go into details. We were falling asleep and I was thinking it was nice, kind of like when Dairren visited and he would come to my room.” He concentrated, “I think I was dreaming of home, before Howe betrayed us and then the darkspawn.”

 

“You were dreaming of Howe and the darkspawn when Jannasilane tried to wake you,” Alistair pointed out.

 

“And while she was gone we did our exercises at night, one of the last things before turning in. Now we do them in the morning,” Blake mused. His face cleared, “Maybe if I make some adjustments . . . I don’t always want to leave my lovers in the middle of the night. I like having options.”

 

“Since you really seem to like him for some odd reason maybe you should talk to him.”

 

Blake peered sideways at his friend, “I could list all the ways I find him intriguing. He has a very skillful tongue, and then of course,” he laughed when Alistair put his hands over his ears. They moved on in good humor and were able to bag some small game and returned to camp flushed with success. Blake handed everything to Alistair and made a beeline for Zevran.

 

Alistair grimaced at being stuck with cleaning all the furred and feathered results of their hunting. He looked up to see Leliana and Jannasilane giggling at him. He stuck out his tongue and had them laughing harder. He couldn’t help smiling, though, when they came toward him. _“They really are a pretty picture.”_

 

Jannasilane started to hug him but wrinkled her nose, “You are quite fragrant, my Ali, Leliana and I will begin cleaning the birds and you can clean the rest. Then,” she emphasized her words by shaking her finger at him, “you will go clean yourself. I did not air out all the blankets so you and Blake could stink them up in one night. I will get what you need. You are not allowed into the tent until you are more odor free.” Matching actions to words she disappeared into the large tent and brought out several items which she sorted into two piles, one for each Warden.

 

“. . . so if you’re still interested I’d like to try again,” Blake leaned back against the tree and toyed with the elf’s blond hair while he waited for an answer.

 

His companion smiled seductively, “But of course, my dear Warden, there are so _many_ things we have yet to do.” He was relieved to see wicked heat replacing the discomfort of the past few days in the Warden’s grey eyes. “It so happens that while you were speaking to Alistair I had an illuminating conversation with our pocket goddess. I will understand if you feel you cannot stay. We will simply make the best of what time we have, yes?”

 

Blake felt a much more pleasant tension rising and leaned down to kiss the other man but stopped abruptly when he saw Package, “What is she doing? Those are my clothes.”

 

Zevran looked back and chuckled, “That is a subtle hint that you need to clean yourself before you can enter your tent. She worked very hard while you were gone to clean and freshen your bedclothes and the tent itself. I think you and Alistair will be pleasantly surprised.”

 

“Subtle? Ha, maybe for Package. Care to join me? We shouldn’t disappoint a lady, after all.”

 

“Especially not a goddess,” Zevran answered and winked.


	52. Auld Lang Syne and Again

Leliana was nervous. She finally had the opportunity to face Marjolaine on more even ground and she felt both eagerness and dread. _“I thought the last time we saw each other was the end. Because of her Tug is dead and Sketch, who knows where he is now. I hope he’s safe. I started a new life and never did anything to hurt her even though part of me wanted to. What does she want this time?”_ Jannasilane insisted on going with her which meant Alistair as well, for which she was grateful. The presence of the large warrior made her feel safe and less vulnerable. She knew Blake would confront her former lover for attacking their group and she couldn’t let him go without her. He didn’t know Marjolaine and would be at a disadvantage. Blake was clever but one didn’t get to be a bard master in Orlais by being stupid.

 

Zevran was having similar thoughts about Blake, only the object of his concern was a note his Warden received from the Crows as soon as they stepped foot in Denerim again. Blake planned on dealing with an experienced bard and then speaking with the Crows to demand they cease their assassination attempts. Zevran shook his head, _“These Fereldans and their straightforward approach to difficulties. I shall go with him to help him avoid any traps they might have for him. I, Zevran Arainai, deliberately putting my head in the lion’s den . . . my former associates would laugh themselves to death at the thought.”_ A little disgruntled he continued sharpening his blades while waiting for Wynne. He would be scouting the market under the guise of escorting the elderly mage while they waited for the Wardens to finish dealing with the lovely Leliana’s former mentor.

 

Blake was feeling supremely confident this morning. His good mood probably had something to do with the recent understanding between himself and Zevran. He supposed he owed Package a thank you for talking to the elf. _“I wonder if Zev would have believed her if I hadn’t had that nightmare. He certainly wouldn’t say anything to hurt her but I know he suspects, or did suspect that our arrangement was . . . fluid.”_ He would definitely have to think of something. Actually he owed much to both of his friends and tent mates. One evening he entered the now-pleasant-smelling tent to see a canvas wall in the middle and his friends blushing nervously. Haltingly Alistair explained that if he wanted Zevran to join him then they could have some privacy and he would still be able to sleep. The ‘wall’ was even enchanted so that most sounds from one side were unlikely to be heard on the other. Blake was touched, _“I don’t think I should take advantage of their offer but it means a lot they even thought of it. I’m not sure if it was harder for him or her, a bit of a tossup that. Ah, this looks like the place.”_ His eyes grew steely, “Let’s take care of this situation. I won’t have any of my friends threatened or harassed.”

 

A token guard of two Qunari mercenaries was quickly removed from duty. Later Sten would correct them and say they were Tal-Vashoth and definitely not of the Qun. Blake studied the attractive, sophisticated brunette waiting for them. Subtle, seductive and deadly was his final verdict. He listened to the exchange between the two bards with the occasional interjection from Package. _“This Marjolaine doesn’t know what she’s dealing with. Package is as stubborn as a mabari in defense of her friends. The Orlesian will never believe that Leliana has no plans to move against her; it’s what she would do if the situation were reversed.”_

 

"Oh, but you are me. You cannot escape it. No one will understand you the way I do, because we are one and the same. Do you know why you were a master manipulator, Leliana? It is because you enjoyed the game; you reveled in the power it gave you. You cannot change or deny this."

 

Her words hit Leliana like a blow and Blake finally spoke up, “She will never let you alone, leave you in peace; you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”

 

Pain and grief swam in her eyes but her voice was resolute, “I know. This ends now, Marjolaine. I will not let you endanger me or my friends any longer.”

 

"You think you can kill me? I _made_ you, Leliana. I can destroy you just as easily." Her words were vicious and her guards as quick and skilled as she.

 

When Marjolaine lay on the floor with the rest of her dead associates Leliana was distraught, “I killed her . . . Marjolaine is dead! I – I need to think.” As soon as they were out of the house she left to go back to camp.

 

Alistair looked after her, perplexed. “Why is she so upset? The woman tried to kill her.”

 

Jannasilane put her hand in his and leaned against him while she looked after her departing friend. Her eyes were full of pity and sorrow, “Maybe, but she loved Marjolaine once. It was the only option and she knows that but it doesn’t mean it was easy.”

 

“No,” understanding dawned. “I suppose it wasn’t,” Alistair agreed. He leaned down and kissed her, “Luckily she has you for a friend.”

 

“Leliana will be fine. Now let’s find Zev and get this next meeting over with. I wonder what they want.”

 

“Hopefully it’s not to finish what Zevran started,” Alistair grumbled.

 

Blake raised an eyebrow, “Are you referring to the seduction or the assassination?” He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of finding ways to make Alistair turn red in embarrassment. Jannasilane tried not to giggle but she wasn’t very successful. Blake ignored the mumbling and led the way to the market where they soon found Zevran. He’d left Wynne in the Wonders of Thedas. “Marjolaine is no longer a problem and Leliana went back to the camp. Shall we see what your old friends want?”

 

“Former associates yes, friends no,” Zevran corrected softly. “One of the vendors, Cesar, is a Crow but I have seen no signs of a trap so far. Either they are very, very good or the people you see are just what they seem to be.”

 

“Maybe you’re not as good as you think,” Alistair was pleased to finally be able to tease the Antivan about _something_. Then he felt guilty at the elf’s crestfallen expression.

 

“Alas, perhaps you are correct,” Zevran peered up through his lashes at the templar, “I am better. Thank you for pointing this out to me.” He smiled in satisfaction when Alistair groaned and threw up his hands in defeat. “Now, my dear Warden, if there is a trap it will be in the tavern. Since the Gnawed Noble is reputable, if expensive, I doubt we will find any significant danger on the premises. If you insist on this meeting let us get it done.”

 

Master Ignacio, Cesar’s associate, was waiting for them. He deliberately ignored Zevran’s presence and spoke only to the Warden. “You’re looking for _help_?” Blake asked incredulously.

 

Ignacio permitted himself a slight smile, “It is rare that one who crosses paths with the Crows emerges unscathed. Such a one is of interest as a possible . . . associate. Your civil war has stirred many rivalries and, you are an intelligent man, I need say no more.”

 

“If I do this I want no more Crows coming after us,” Blake warned.

 

“Regretfully, this I cannot do. One master has a contract on you and will not rest until it is completed or he and his cell are dead. This is why we have stayed in business for so many years. But if help is requested then perhaps he will be met with silence, yes? The guild master has already decreed there will be no more contracts taken out on you,” Ignacio gave an elegant ‘what can you do?’ shrug.

 

Zevran confirmed the information, “Normally it is one contract, one master. Only once that I know of the entire guild was contracted. An entire noble family was killed and a princely sum changed hands.”

 

Alistair and Jannasilane silently watched the discussion. After it was done the group retreated to the main room of the Tavern and grabbed an isolated table in the corner. “What do you think?” Blake asked. Zevran was silent. He knew without being told the question was addressed to the others.

 

Alistair shifted uncomfortably, “I can’t say I like the idea. No offense Zevran but I never really saw myself as an assassin, it’s just not . . . er . . . umm . . . honorable,” he finally blurted. He hunched his shoulders and stared down at the table. He could feel his face flaming under the twin scrutiny of the rogues.

 

“No, I suppose it would not seem so to a Fereldan,” Zevran was amused rather than insulted. He rather thought the large templar looked like an adorable, albeit overgrown, child in trouble with the adults. He decided to indulge himself a little and patted the man’s large hands, “There, there, do not worry, my young friend. I am not insulted but if you feel you need to soothe my feelings I am sure I can think of something.” His pats changed to caresses. He and Blake chortled at how quickly Alistair moved his hands back and glared at him. “Is it just your sense of honor that is abused or is there another reason?”

 

“I hate you both,” Alistair mumbled under his breath. Then he straightened up and cleared his throat before answering the question, “Do we really have time? If word gets out people who currently are on our side may wonder if we are as bad as Loghain says we are. And can we even trust this Ignacio to not betray us?”

 

“Your Ignacio wears his cloak of lies very well. I am not sure but I think he was telling the truth,” Jannasilane offered softly.

 

“I rather like that, cloak of lies. Ignacio may be a weasel but he was speaking truly. Our reputation is one of our most important assets. We would not get many new contracts if people could not trust us to honor our bargain. Double-dealing is bad for a business such as ours. This does not mean that in a few years Ignacio and the Crows might not take another contract, even though it is considered impolitic to act against the Wardens. It is reasonably safe to say that he speaks truly when he says that he will offer no help on the current contract."

 

Blake knew it hadn't been easy for Zevran to face his former associates. He reached under the table and squeezed his lover's knee to show his appreciation. He studied Package who still seemed troubled, "What about you?"

 

"Grey Wardens have always had to make hard decisions, make great sacrifices. Kill one person to save a village; take contracts of assassination to insure the only Wardens left have a better chance to survive and defeat the Archdemon. I do not really like it but I would rather see you and my Ali live a while longer. I would take 100 contracts to keep you alive," she replied seriously.

 

Blake smiled slowly. He picked up her hand and brought her fingers to his lips for a gentle kiss, "I adore you, Package. Thank you." He let go and leaned back against his chair. "If it makes you both feel better I rather think this will benefit us more than just having fewer bounty hunters and other thugs on our tails. You remember Paedan was working against us and any sympathizers. Well, this official in Orzammar is as well. He is a Loghain supporter from way back."

 

"Well, that's interesting," Alistair said nothing more but he was thinking a lot.

 

"Might I suggest we try and find out if popular opinion is shifting? Perhaps venture away from the market," Zevran offered.

 

"Riordan is still alive, I can sense it. Maybe we'll have better luck finding him," Jannasilane's eyes lit with hope. The others didn't have the heart to say anything. To a man they believed it was wishful thinking on her part.

 

Blake shrugged, "Let's start with the Pearl, Sanga owes us one and brothels are as good as taverns for finding what people are saying."

 

"Often better," Zevran added, "if you gain the confidence of the right worker."

 

"How? Never mind, I really don't want to know," Alistair actually shuddered at the thought that the elf might really tell him.

 

They left for the Pearl. They meandered, sometimes splitting into pairs, and listening to conversations. It did seem as if more people were unhappy with Loghain but they were still too scared to do anything about it.

 

The Pearl was full but surprisingly a number of people were gathered in a semi-circle. It didn't take long to find out why after one man was thrown and then another. Zevran lifted an eyebrow, he smiled knowingly and finally he chuckled, "Ah, Isabela, looking as lovely as ever and still putting men in their place."

 

"Zevran, as I live and breathe . . . come to apologize for leaving me bereft of my husband," the tall dark beauty taunted the Antivan. Wavy hair was held back by a blue scarf, a foil for seductive dark eyes and full lips in a strong face. Her naturally dusky skin was tanned darker by the sun, a bit weather-beaten but this gave her looks an earthy, accessible quality which she used as she desired. Her figure rivaled Jannasilane’s and the scant, tight-fitting armor displayed her full bosom admirably. Alistair had a hard time not staring, she was so blatantly sexual.

 

“Do you two wish some time to become reacquainted?” Blake kept his voice light and jovial while struggling to ignore the flare of jealousy in his gut. It was obvious to a blind chantry sister that the Antivan and the Rivaini had a sexual history. Knowing that Zevran preferred women made him feel uncharacteristically unsure of himself. He could certainly understand her appeal when she turned her attention to him. She frankly appraised him and made it very clear she approved of what she saw. _“Of course Zevran would bed her while determining how best to kill her husband. If ever a woman was made for sex it’s Isabela.”_

 

“A Grey Warden? Charmed I’m sure, sweet thing,” the pirate purred huskily. She looked at Alistair and Jannasilane, who were watching with wide eyes. Isabella was amused, “and are you Wardens as well?” Lazily she traced a finger down the front of Alistair’s armor, grinned at the young girl and sauntered back to her table.

 

“Y-yes,” Alistair was grateful he only stuttered instead of squeaking, “I am. J-Jannasilane isn’t.”

 

Blake saved him from further embarrassment, “Your fighting skills are impressive. I don’t believe I’ve seen anybody fight like that before.” They bantered back and forth, Isabela offered to teach him after a card game. “Why don’t we board your ship and you can show me what’s below decks?”She smiled and looked at Zevran invitingly. “Zevran too, of course.”

 

Just then Jannasilane spoke up, “May we come? I’ve never been on a ship before.” She didn’t understand why three pairs of eyes looked at her in disbelief and one in speculation.

 

“Um, my love? I don’t know if you want to do that,” Alistair shifted from one foot to another as she looked at him perplexed.

 

Isabela took Zevran aside, “Zev, is she really that innocent? Not exactly your normal type of companion.”

 

Zevran smiled before explaining to the interested pirate, “the Pocket Goddess is a delightful companion in many ways but she is young and quite innocent in some areas, he a bit less so. Life has been rather entertaining since I met the Wardens I can-” he broke off as Isabela sauntered towards the pair in a predatory manner.

 

She grinned to herself when the handsome warrior looked as if he didn’t know whether to run and hide or fight. “Relax, lover, I’m not going to hurt you. Unless you want me to,” she added wickedly. She tilted Jannasilane’s chin so she was looking into her eyes. She bent down and gave the smaller woman a soft kiss on the lips. Jannasilane froze as the pirate ghosted soft kisses over her cheeks until she could whisper in her ear, “You are quite a pretty little bird, sweeting. I would love to have you and your warrior join us in my bed. Are you ready for an orgy of limbs, not knowing whose hands are touching you, whose lips are kissing you, who is holding you in their arms?” She leaned back and waited.

 

Jannasilane looked up at Alistair uncertainly. She bit her lower lip, not realizing that Alistair and Isabela both felt a flare of desire. She looked back at the pirate woman, “Y-your b-b-bed?”

 

“Yes, sweeting, my bed,” her eyes danced with mischief as she eyed the twin flames in front of her. When she judged she’d teased the young girl enough she relented. “Never mind, sweeting, perhaps some other time we can have a bit of fun.” She looked up at Alistair, “Bye, lover.” She hooked her arms in Blake’s and Zevran’s, “Shall we go, men?”

 

Alistair and Jannasilane watched Isabela sashay out of the Pearl with their friends. Once they were out of sight Alistair cleared his throat, “I think I could use a drink.” He signaled one of the waitresses and they were silent until pints were set in front of them. Alistair took a couple of gulps and relaxed a little, “How do you think Blake will fare with two Zevrans?” Jannasilane blushed and smiled at him. One hand crept across the table to his. Together they got comfortable and prepared to wait for their friends.


	53. Two Down, One to Go

“Alistair still won’t tell me what he and Package did while waiting for us to come back from Isabela’s ship. I only know he has less money and he’s not happy,” Blake responded to Zevran’s query. For two days Alistair had been, well broody was the only word that seemed to fit. Zevran frowned a little, the templar was also becoming increasingly irritable and if something didn’t happen soon he was afraid of what might happen. “She won’t tell me either. She just says to give him time,” Blake was watching the small woman next to Leliana.

 

“I am sorry she hurt you, Leliana,” Jannasilane told her friend.

 

Leliana smiled, “Talking to you and Blake helped me see things more clearly. You were both right, just because I enjoy the life we are leading with its surprises, danger and adventure doesn’t mean I am like her. Marjolaine taught me much but I do not have to follow her path; I can use those skills to forge my own. I admit, before the refugees started pouring into Lothering I was becoming rather bored in the Chantry.”

 

“And now you are with us,” Jannasilane slipped a friendly arm around the redhead’s waist.

 

“And I think it is impossible to be bored when traveling with you and the Wardens,” Leliana giggled and reciprocated the gesture.

 

Normally Alistair, who walked nearby but apart from the others, would enjoy the sight and sounds of the two women together; it usually brought a smile to his face. Now he barely noticed he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts. _“What is wrong with me? I thought family accepted each other, looked out for each other and instead **my** sister turned out to be a shrew who was angry at me for being born and wanted nothing but a share of my ‘riches.’ Did she really think that just because the king was my father I would be rich? I’m nothing but his bastard, the child he wanted no part of.”_

 

That night after dinner he was just sitting and staring into the fire, or rather brooding and staring. Only Jannasilane was left. She began to clean as was their custom and then decided it was time to take action. She stood directly in front of him with her hands on her hips, “Alistair, this must stop. You are hurting yourself and I do not like it. Blake is worried as well.”

 

He looked at her standing so fiercely before him in her leather tunic. She’d already removed the chestpiece and skirt for the night. The firelight flickered behind her, casting a dancing pattern of light and shadow on her skin. Need grew in him, need for her, need for his mate. He fisted his hand in the front of her tunic and pulled her forward freeing one breast in the process. He latched on, sucking and biting. Jannasilane wrapped her arms around his head and bent her head forward, her hair veiling them from the world. She shuddered as her own desire grew. He lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist before embracing her, his hands cupping her rear through the leather. Quickly he stood and strode to their tent. “What about the dishes,” she gasped.

 

“To the Fade with the pots and pans,” he growled. “We’ll get them later. Now shut up.” To make sure of it he covered her mouth with his, his tongue plundering. He wasn’t gentle when he removed her clothes and began kneading the full curves of her glorious bottom. “Maker’s breath, you’re a fever in my blood and I hope it never burns out,” he groaned and began trailing bruising kisses back to her breasts. She responded by tightening her legs around his waist, any discomfort ignored in the rush of pleasure. “One thing I like about this new armor, it makes it easier to do this,” he entered her in one hard thrust. After a minute he collected himself enough to be concerned, “Did I, am I hurting you?”

 

“Only if you stop, my Ali,” Jannasilane answered with a sultry smile. “If you can give it I can take it, I assure you.”

 

“I am a lucky, lucky man.” He closed his eyes in relief and then renewed his efforts. Later, while they lay with the sweat drying on their bodies he gently stroked her. “Thank you,” he said.

 

She propped herself up on his chest and looked at him, “For what are you thanking me, my Ali? I believe I enjoyed myself quite well. I am bruised but well-used, you could say.”

 

He gently traced one finger over her swollen lower lip, “You have definitely been hanging around Zevran, or perhaps Oghren, too much. Thank you for letting me, I don’t know, purge myself of the sour thoughts I’ve had since Denerim. I know I haven’t been good company. I was disappointed sure, I’ve had dreams of a real family for so long, that somewhere somebody cared for me and Goldanna was kind of a last chance. Then I began to be jealous, jealous of you and Blake because you both had that. Everything either of you said about your homes . . . it was always clear that you were loved. Maybe I was always jealous but it didn’t matter because I had a sister and I hoped . . . well, now I know.”

 

Jannasilane looked at him unblinking. He couldn’t read her expression as she pulled him up into a sitting position. She knelt in front of him and cradled his handsome face in her small hands, “When my parents were murdered, I was devastated. I did not think I would ever get over the pain and then I met the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Soon I had a new family: a brother, a sister and you. You are the strongest, bravest, kindest man I know and I feel blessed by Andraste that you love me even a fraction of how much I love you. Somebody, I forget who, said there were two kinds of families and only one was the one you were born with. You have family Alistair, people who care for you. They just aren’t the family of your birth.”

 

“No, I am the one blessed. I was blessed on the road to Lothering even if I didn’t know it at the time. I love you, Jannasilane Alenahaella,” he kissed her forehead and just held her as if she was the most precious jewel in all of Thedas. Finally he sighed, “Well, duty calls,” and he stood.

 

She looked up at him slyly, “Is that what you call it?”

 

He laughed, “Dishes, minx, dishes. You stay in bed; I’ll take care of them.”

 

She put on one of her robes, ignoring that last comment. “Come, the faster they are done the faster we can be back here together.”

 

“I like the way you think,” he opened the tent flap and followed her out.

 

“You were very sexy when you stood up to her and defended my honor,” Jannasilane fluttered her eyelashes at him, something she’d been practicing. “And your handsomeness is stronger in your new armor.”

 

Alistair grinned, “Was I? I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

 

“I still wish I could have cut out her vicious tongue,” she mused.

 

“My hero,” Alistair put a hand on his heart and made her laugh.

 

“Whose tongue do you wish to remove, Package? You are so bloodthirsty,” Blake joined them.

 

The warrior sighed, “My sister. While waiting for you and Zev we went to visit her. Meet her, really. It did not go well.” Alistair continued to explain in more detail while Jannasilane went to the camp fire.

 

“I’m sorry she wasn’t as you hoped, Alistair,” Blake said. Now he understood why his friend had been in such a foul mood. “People look out for themselves. At least now you stand up for yourself.” He clapped the big man on the shoulder, “I’m glad you’re feeling better. You were starting to worry me. _I’m_ the one who is supposed to get broody and sarcastic, _you’re_ supposed to be sunny and optimistic.”

 

Alistair looked at the dark-haired rogue, “I’ll try to keep that in mind,” he said drily. He rolled his shoulders and joined Jannasilane. He wrapped his arms loosely around her and examined the camp site, “Wow that was fast. I can’t believe you got the dishes cleaned up while I was talking to Blake.”

 

She shook her head, “You know I did not. They were all done when we came out.”

 

“Perhaps they did it themselves. The pot called to the kettle who called to the pan and they marched to the water followed by the rest of the dishes,” he said whimsically.

 

“While the soap, scrub brush and drying towel brought up the rear,” she giggled.

 

“And they sang, no whistled cheerfully the whole time they were working,” he finished.

 

Jannasilane leaned back against him. “Well, to whoever is responsible, thank you,” she addressed the general area.

 

A voice came from one of the tents, “You’re welcome.” Oghren accompanied his words with a loud belch. “It was the least I could do after the show you provided, heh heh. I’ll never doubt you again, boy; you do know what to do with a woman.” He chuckled to himself when the kid and his Cherryplum stood red-faced and gaping before retreating quickly to their tent. _“Now, I wonder if I can maneuver a look-see at that witchy woman. Too bad her tent is so far away, probably got the area booby-trapped too.”_

 

The next day Alistair and Jannasilane avoided Oghren but couldn’t avoid many teasing references to shows and performances since most of their companions heard Oghren, all except Morrigan and Shale who were too far away. Even Wynne teased Alistair, telling him it was time he knew where babies came from. “It is good to see our templar friend back to normal,” Zevran commented. “I was beginning to worry that I might not be able to use all the material I have accumulated, which would be such a waste.”

 

“Perhaps you can use it tonight, in our tent,” Blake invited him.

 

Morrigan was berating Alistair about his sister, “And you gave the woman money?”

 

“Err... yes?”

 

“Why would you do such a thing?”

 

Alistair looked at her for a long moment, “I did it because for me it was the right thing to do.”

 

“This woman is a parasite who will appreciate nothing you do for her, you know this!”

 

Alistair became exasperated with her harping on the subject, “It's moments like this when I truly appreciate the difference between you and me.”

 

Morrigan scoffed, “'Tis moments like this when I truly wonder at the difference between you and a toadstool.” Alistair shook his head and moved away to walk with Sten, wanting a silent companion for a change.

 

Jannasilane waited until he was gone before stepping beside the temperamental witch, “Now that you are in a good mood I have a question for you, Morrigan.”

 

“What, pray tell, do you mean by that?” Morrigan asked imperiously.

 

“Teasing or berating my Ali always seems to put you in a good mood,” Jannasilane said matter-of-factly.

 

Morrigan’s lips quirked, “It does help ease the cloying atmosphere created by the foolish grins and lingering looks you share with the idiot and the ones between the Warden and that elf. At least we all now know he’s reasonably good in bed. ‘Tis the only reason I can think of to put up with him.” She waited to see how the toy would respond.

 

Jannasilane surprised Morrigan with a wicked grin, “He surpassed ‘reasonably’ some time ago, I think.”

 

“Good for you, then. So what question do you have of me?”

 

“What happens to your clothes when you shift shapes? Why don’t they tear or fall off, depending on the creature?”

 

The witch looked down on the younger woman with interest, “You are the first to ask me about clothes. Not even the bard with her fanatic interest in shoes and fashion asked me such a question. Very well, I don’t mind answering. As Flemeth explained it to me as long as I wear clothing made only of organic material I need do nothing. It does not matter if it comes from plants or animals. When I concentrate on the form I am shifting to it will shift just the way my skin does. I do not even have to think about it.” She paused to see if the toy understood. “Non-organic material, such as these earrings, will not shift when I do. If I turn into a wolf it is possible they will still appear on my ears. Should I shift into a bird, I am unsure what would happen to them. They might simply fall to the ground or they might end up under my skin. Nor can I be sure that when I shift back they won’t end up somewhere distinctly uncomfortable.”

 

“Yes, having them end up on the bottom of your foot would not be good for walking. Thank you for answering. I admit I have been curious about it for some time. I thought possibly it was two spells at once, one for shifting and one for storing.”

 

Morrigan half-laughed at the idea, “It would be convenient to have a storage chest in the Fade; travel would be much simpler but it doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid.”

 

“This is probably best. I do not think I would like demons pawing through my smallclothes,” Jannasilane wrinkled her nose at the prospect.

 

The beautiful witch coughed to hide her amusement at the absurd image. “It couldn’t be much worse than the dwarf doing so.” The toy nodded in agreement. They continued walking together in silence. Morrigan actually found it comfortable walking with her; she had asked her question and didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with inane chatter. _“Yet she talks a lot of nothing with the self-righteous bard. Is she a chameleon by nature or artifice?”_ She thought about it and came up with her own answer, _“Definitely by nature. She blushes too easily to be able to lie well. Secrets, yes, we all have secrets.”_ Several minutes later she said, “Eleven.”

 

Jannasilane blinked in confusion, “Eleven? Eleven what?”

 

“It is eleven times you have looked at your templar since I answered your question. Are you afraid he will disappear?”

 

“I look because he is very handsome and I like to watch him,” she shrugged.

 

“Why is Jannasilane talking to Morrigan? That can’t be good,” Alistair was uncomfortable with the way the two women were looking at him.

 

Zevran looked the templar up and down, which only increased Alistair’s discomfort. “Perhaps they are admiring the handsome figure of a man you are in your new green armor. Your eyes positively sparkle, though that could be due to the charms of the delectable Pocket Goddess. Master Wade surpassed himself. I dare say he found you to be . . . inspiring. I do so love to see a man in personally tailored armor; it really highlights your assets.”

 

“Uh, okay.” Alistair knew he was turning red and was relieved when Blake joined them. “We’ll be in the Brecelian Forest soon. I don’t know how long it will take to find the Dalish, hopefully only a few days. Maybe we won’t have to jump through hoops for this last treaty like we did for the first two.”

 

Blake snorted, “Not bloody likely. I’ll be satisfied if it doesn’t take forever like it did in Orzammar.”

 

Alistair grinned, “Well, you did say I’m supposed to be sunny and optimistic; just doing my job.”


	54. The Last Hoop

“At least it didn’t take long to find them,” Alistair muttered to Blake as they were escorted by Dalish guards to their Keeper.

 

Their group had been quickly surrounded by the unfriendly elves and Blake had no doubt if he hadn’t said he was a Grey Warden some of those arrows pointed at them would have been released. He made no moves toward his weapons but he noticed that Package and Zevran were fingering their daggers and Morrigan had a spell ready. Shale looked threatening, an easy feat for a golem; everybody was alert and ready for trouble. Blake put on his most diplomatic smile, “Keeper Zathrian, a pleasure to meet you. I am Blake and this is Alistair, my fellow Grey Warden.”

 

Zathrian was a stern-looking older elf who was not happy to have visitors but he answered with brusque politeness, “Greetings Grey Wardens. Such courtesy from an outsider is most unexpected. We are aware of the Blight so I presume you are here about your treaties. I am afraid we are in no position to help you.” He explained their difficulties and led them to a secluded area of camp where several elves were suffering from a painful ailment.

 

“So you see, Grey Warden, too many of our hunters are suffering from the werewolves’ curse and we don’t have enough to be of any assistance. If I had the heart of the werewolves’ leader, Witherfang, I might be able to cure our hunters but that’s a difficult task.”

 

Blake considered their options. They could return to Redcliffe but he wasn’t sure they had enough troops without the Dalish. They could look for another clan but the search might take days or weeks. “We’ll do what we can to help your hunters but I need more information.”

 

Zathrian seemed satisfied and told them what to look for. “Be careful in the forest, Grey Warden. Should you or one of your companions become stricken with the curse there is nothing I can do without Witherfang’s heart.”

 

They gathered some supplies and information from some of the other elves before heading deeper into the forest. As they were leaving Jannasilane pulled Blake aside, “Be careful. That Zathrian has much deceit and he feels of blood magic,” she whispered.

 

Blake wondered what the old elf was hiding. He hoped it was just secrets of the Dalish they routinely kept from outsiders; frankly after their experience with the Circle he was more concerned about the blood magic. Very quietly he chanted the Litany of Adralla just in case Zathrian was trying something. Alistair noticed and got ready to do a mana cleanse or even a smite if need be. He waited until they were further away before asking for more information.

 

“Beyond worry over his clan and distrust of outsiders I can’t put my fingers on anything specific,” Wynne said after much thought.

 

“He is definitely hiding something but it could be explained by the Dalish’ normal suspicion of outsiders and determination to keep their secrets. But I would not trust him, my dear Warden,” Zevran added. Leliana and Morrigan agreed with his assessment. “He strikes me as one who would be ruthless in pursuit of a goal regardless the cost.”

 

Sten looked at the Warden, “Does it matter? You have agreed to find this Witherfang, if he even exists. Let us get on with it.”

 

“He agreed to help the hunters, which may not be the same thing,” Jannasilane eyed Blake thoughtfully. His eyes crinkled slightly at her understanding. “I do not like this keeper. When he spoke of the curse’s beginnings and of Witherfang there was something ‘other’ about his words. It is truth he wants the heart of Witherfang. It is truth he wants to cure the hunters. I am not so sure that they are the same truth.”

 

“What we know for sure is that there are werewolves, they may come from Witherfang, they infected some of the hunters and Zathrian hates them with a passion. We need to be careful but there may be some other way to end the curse.”

 

“He said nothing about ending the curse, only curing the hunters. Perhaps ending the curse would result in the deaths of all infected if they aren’t cured first and therefore it is not his primary concern,” Morrigan suggested. _“Or perhaps he has some other reason; he does remind me a little bit of Mother.”_

 

They moved forward in ones and twos, all the narrow trails would allow. Blake led the way with Morrigan at his side since she had the most experience in the wilderness. Oghren, in the middle of the line, peered from one side to the other nervously, “Does it seem like these trees are watching us?”

 

Leliana looked around cautiously, "They say the Veil is thin here, and all manner of strange things may be seen. I hope it is not like Soldier’s Peak where we kept walking into old memories."

 

“From what Sarel told us about the history of this place I would not be surprised. Let’s hope we don’t number among those who enter the forest only to never be seen again,” Wynne frowned.

 

Gathering his courage Oghren hoisted his axe on his shoulders, “At least the trees block the sodding sky. Let’s set some fur flying.” As if his words were a signal they were attacked by a group of wolves and werewolves, some rabid. “Scream at ‘em like you mean it, Cherryplum and slow the bleeding nug-lickers down some. Wee-hoo!” Alistair couldn’t help grinning at that even as he faced several of the beasts.

 

A short time later they were confronted by a talking and very angry werewolf who called himself Swiftrunner, “The forest spoke truly, my brothers, Zathrian has sent humans of all things. You do not belong here; go back to the treacherous Dalish.”

 

“You speak?” Blake asked, surprised.

 

Swiftrunner spat out the words, “Yes, we have regained the power of speech and are no longer mindless beasts, thanks to the Lady.”

 

“Look, I don’t want to fight you, I just want to talk,” Blake remained calm.

 

The werewolf glared at him and shook his head. “Did not Zathrian send you? He wants Witherfang’s heart and nothing more. The treacherous Dalish won’t stop until then. We protect Witherfang. Come, brothers,” Swiftrunner howled to his brethren. Fortunately nobody was injured in the ensuing skirmish. Seeing that the Wardens would not be easily defeated the werewolves retreated into the depths of the forest.

 

Carefully the Wardens ventured further into the trees, conscious of unseen eyes upon them. They found ironbark only to be attacked by a tree, then more werewolves and, of course, the ubiquitous darkspawn. They interrupted their search when they discovered a wounded Dalish hunter and carried him back to camp where he could hopefully be healed. Alistair delivered the ironbark they found to Varathorn while Blake took Package with him to try and get more information from the Keeper. Stubbornly Zathrian refused to believe the werewolves could speak intelligently and was adamant that they were nothing but savage beasts and could not be negotiated with. Blake hoped they weren’t getting into another Branka situation but the keeper’s arrogance, brusqueness and single-minded determination did not give him much confidence.

 

The forest and many of its denizens, when they re-entered, actively worked against them, reminding them of Swiftrunner’s words. The Wardens even found a magical barrier preventing them from entering a section in the depths. “We need to find somebody or something to help us; I’m tired of getting turned around in this unnatural fog. I’m tired of being attacked by the blasted trees,” Blake finally said.

 

“Huh, I thought trees were supposed to stay in one place. The Shaper never mentioned anything about them getting a splinter up their bark and attacking anybody. I prefer sinking my axe into darkspawn,” Oghren groused. “What’s next? Are the flowers going to fling themselves at us?”

 

“I’d like to pelt you with petals, my love,” Alistair whispered to Jannasilane. She smiled up at him.

 

Morrigan overheard and groaned in disgust. “This forest has addled what few wits you have. I hope we are done soon or even your toy won’t be able to stand you.”

 

“Ah, I think it is sweet and romantic,” Leliana disagreed.

 

“I heard you liked her covered in ale,” the dwarf added. “Pickled Cherryplum, yummy.” He smacked his lips and leered.

 

“At least he is no longer comparing her to those feathered fiends of the sky.”

 

“Or singing,” Sten added his opinion. General Lee barked his agreement.

 

Wynne had the last word, “I am sure Alistair has learned his lesson about abusing fine ale and misusing his vocal chords. Unlike young Jannasilane _his_ singing has no affect on the darkspawn or any of our other enemies and none of this gets us any closer to where we need to go.” Only somebody looking closely could see the twinkle in her eye behind the stern visage. For his part Alistair found himself envying his love because she could use her hair to hide a face he knew was as scarlet as his own.

 

“Yes, now that Alistair ‘hates us all’ once again we should turn our attention to our current problem,” Blake shared an amused grin with Zevran. “Let’s go.” He began walking in what he hoped was a new direction. He snickered to himself when he heard Zevran regaling Alistair with a list of pleasurable things he could cover Package in without suffering the ill-effects of dwarven ale. _“I’ll have to remember some of those for when we have more time,”_ he thought.

 

“You want us to retrieve an _acorn_?” Blake couldn’t believe they were being asked something so trivial. With some difficulty they had made their way to this glade only to meet a talking oak tree, one who spoke only in rhyme. _“Of course, why should I be surprised? What else would concern an oak tree other than the safety of its acorns?”_ He shrugged his shoulders, “Get your acorn from the hermit and you’ll help us get into the center of the forest. Got it.”

 

Leliana had to be pulled away by her friends. “Just think of the stories it could tell, the history it has observed, what we could learn,” she gushed.

 

“Yes, it would be fascinating to come here some other time,” Wynne agreed as they walked away. “I’ll have to remember to inform Senior Enchanter Torrin. He is one of our most dedicated scholars and his particular field of study pertains to spirits on this side of the Veil as well as creatures of legends and myth. He doesn’t like to leave the Tower but for this opportunity he would surely make an exception.”

 

By the time they reached the ruins the werewolves used as their lair all of them were tired of the forest. Even the Deep Roads were almost beginning to seem preferable. Once they stepped inside the ancient structure Oghren was relieved to have a roof over his head once again, “Finally, some stone overhead even if it does smell like wet dog.”

 

“This is most unusual, the architecture looks Tevinter but all the trappings appear to be elven. The structure is quite ancient. Fascinating, there is so much we don’t know and so many questions we don’t even know to ask,” the teacher in Wynne remarked.

 

Oghren got to see Jannasilane attack a dragon and that was just one of the surprises they encountered. The final surprise was meeting the Lady of the Forest and learning the truth about the curse. “Package did think Zathrian wasn’t telling us everything, so this news shouldn’t be so surprising,” Blake remarked. “We will try and persuade him to come speak to you but I don’t know how successful we’ll be. I believe he wants Witherfang’s heart and nothing else,” he frowned.

 

Swiftrunner and the other werewolves were angry but the Lady managed to calm them down. “Go, stranger, and do the best you can. Surely this has gone on long enough.”

 

The Wardens didn’t have to go far; Zathrian had followed them to the top of the ruins. Blake crossed his arms, “We need to talk. _You_ created this curse and _you_ need to end it. I’m sorry about what happened to your family centuries ago but now the only ones suffering are those innocent of the crime, including your own people. We’re taking you to the Lady of the Forest to talk.”

 

Zathrian frowned at the young man, “You do realize that she and Witherfang are one and the same?”

 

Blake shrugged, “I don’t care. She’s still been more honest than you have.” The Keeper bridled at the disapproval in the Warden’s voice.

 

“And will you insure my safety?” he asked with bad grace.

 

“As long as you don’t start anything,” Blake answered. The Warden’s companions surrounded the Keeper to make sure he didn’t slip away.

 

Blake had to give the old elf credit; surrounded as he was by unfriendly werewolves he maintained his air of passionate disdain. _“The old . . . he’s so full of hatred and bile I’m surprised he’s not foaming at the mouth,”_ Blake watched the ‘discussion’ between Zathrian and the Lady. He wished Zathrian would surprise him but instead the keeper insisted he wasn’t going to end the curse. Even when Swiftrunner rashly said they should all be killed Blake knew his answer, “We’re not helping you, Zathrian. This curse needs to end. You need to stop putting your needs ahead of the needs of your clan.”

 

“Then you can **all** die!” Zathrian shouted. It seemed like one spell: the werewolves were paralyzed and sylvans, shades and demons appeared to fight on the Keeper’s behalf. Even Morrigan was impressed, or would have been if she had a moment to think about it.

 

The battle raged. Finally Morrigan and Wynne were far enough away so Alistair could use his templar skills to free the werewolves from their imprisonment. Their added strength tipped the battle and Zathrian was defeated. Perhaps it was the awareness that he was going to die or perhaps the battle allowed him to vent some of the spleen built up over the years but he agreed to end the curse. He even smiled a little, a sad but surprisingly sweet smile when he said that. Without inflexible hate to support him his age seemed to catch up with him, “And what about you, Spirit?”

 

In a gentle voice full of longing she answered him, “You are my creator, Zathrian. I have experienced joy, pain, friendship . . . so much of what your world has to offer. But I want nothing more than to return to my home.”

 

Zathrian bowed his head. The werewolves crowded around the Lady in order to say good-bye while Zathrian pounded his staff on the ground. Whatever else he did or said neither Morrigan nor Wynne could catch but when his body slumped to the ground the spirit disappeared and the werewolves were once again men and women.

 

The new humans stamped their feet and waved their arms. They flexed their fingers and shrugged their shoulders as they acquainted themselves, some for the first time, with their new form. Swiftrunner approached the Warden, “Thank you, stranger, for freeing us. It . . . it is an odd sensation, being human once again.” His words were disjointed but his meaning clear. “I do not know what we can do to . . . repay you.”

 

Blake had an idea, “There is a Blight and we’re building an army to fight the darkspawn. If you’re interested you could help.”

 

“We have come across these creatures . . . these darkspawn in the forest. They are a . . . poison to the land. Some of our brethren have been lost to them. I will speak with the others,” Swiftrunner left the Warden. He was gone for several minutes before returning. “We are willing but do not know if we can help you. We . . . do not know what these bodies can do.”

 

“First you’ll go to Soldier’s Peak, an old Grey Warden base which is being put to rights. Sten, Oghren, I want you to stay here with Swiftrunner and help them collect anything they may need or want to take. After we speak to the Dalish Alistair, Jannasilane and Leliana will return here and lead the way to the Peak. There Levi and his family can make sure they all have at least rudimentary armor and weapons. Alistair will be in charge. Alistair, I want you to assess their skills and divide up their training amongst you as you see fit. The rest of us will resupply in Denerim and meet you there.”

 

Alistair nodded and looked at Swiftrunner, “Soldier’s Peak is pretty isolated. You’ll at least be able to become used to being human again in some privacy. The only people there are Levi’s family and a mage who keeps to himself in one of the towers. I think you’ll surprise yourselves at how quickly you adapt.” What he didn’t add was that it was probably a good idea for them to get away from the forest and the Dalish sooner rather than later. He looked at Blake and realized their leader had already considered the possibility of retaliation.

 

“Now that the curse has ended the forest seems much less hostile,” Wynne remarked as the bulk of their group returned to the Dalish camp. Even Morrigan couldn’t disagree.

 

“I suggest we be careful in case the Dalish are unhappy with the death of their Keeper,” Zevran warned.


	55. Soldier’s Peak Once Again

Fortunately Zevran’s warning was not necessary. _“It didn’t hurt that we found Danyla on our way back. She was in bad shape from the transformations but we were able to take her with us. The happiness of her reunion with Athras helped soften the blow. And that Lanaya had her own suspicions about the curse . . . I wonder how much she actually knew? Doesn’t matter, we’ll have the Dalish with us as well as some of the former werewolves. I think she was more upset that Zathrian lied about the reason for his longevity rather than that he created the curse. That certainly dealt a blow to the hopes she had that they might be regaining their alleged immortality.”_ Blake looked around the Peak approvingly, “You’ve done a great job, Alistair. I didn’t think their training would be so far along in such a short period of time. Our business in Denerim was done faster than I expected.”

 

Alistair shrugged nonchalantly but he was pleased, “It wasn’t too hard. They’re quick and transitioned pretty easily. Most of them prefer two blades and melee fighting but a few gravitated to other weapons. Having Leliana along helped a lot. She was able to help train the archers and between her and Janna they didn’t have a chance not to talk; Leliana probably has enough material for a hundred stories. As you can see they are more comfortable talking with each other as well as Levi’s family. I was thinking . . . and don’t look so surprised,” he narrowed his eyes at his friend before Blake could come up with some clever remark.

 

“Yes, Alistair?” Blake schooled his features into polite interest.

 

“I was thinking that we shouldn’t take them to Redcliffe, at least not right away. Maybe the Dalish won’t be able to tell them from other humans but the less opportunity they have to find out the better. We have to go to Lake Calenhad, right?”

 

“And then back to Orzammar, yes,” Blake was really curious now.

 

Alistair watched his charges for a minute. All those people gave him an idea of what the Peak would look like when it was a functioning base again. “Some of them want to stay with the Drydens and learn their trades but I was thinking we should leave the rest of them at Lake Calenhad. They can either camp in the forest or stay at the Inn. I daresay Fred will feel more comfortable with people patrolling the area around the Princess; he’s still a bit jumpy after those Haven fellows. We can introduce Stryder, the one who used to call himself Swiftrunner, to Greagoir. When it’s time for the mages to go to Redcliffe they can travel with them and the templars.”

 

Blake nodded his head thoughtfully, “And perhaps they can get some more training from the templars. There’s plenty of room by the Lake. Greagoir might be glad of some extra hands, he’s not thrilled about the mages leaving the Tower with little to no escort and he lost a lot of men during Uldred’s rebellion. Good thinking, Alistair,” he clapped the other man on the back.

 

Two people walked toward them. Stryder was arguing with Jannasilane about who was faster, “We may not be as fast as we were but we’re still quicker than most humans. A little more training and you won’t be able to beat us in a sparring match.”

 

“It is truth you are quick but you are forgetting that I am also quite fast. I am nimble as well and can easily dodge under your attacks,” she teased.

 

“Finally admitting that you’re a little Package?” Blake teased.

 

She ran to him and gave him a friendly hug, “I am glad you are with us again and not in Denerim, even if you insist on saying I am little.”

 

Stryder couldn’t help grinning at that. He acknowledged Blake with a quiet word, “Warden.” He turned to Alistair, his manner respectful and warmer, “Alistair, ser, I think we’ve reached the point where it won’t help us to stay here for training. The family of Dryden has been very helpful with armor and weapons; we are eager to repay the debt we owe to the Grey Wardens.”

 

“I agree. The Warden and I have been talking . . .” he strode off with Stryder and explained the plan. Blake and Jannasilane watched them go. He noticed how all the werewolves, _“former werewolves,”_ he corrected himself, respected Alistair and how easily his friend dealt with those who came up to them. Even Levi and his brother Mikhael treated Alistair differently than before. “He’s changed a lot since we met. Does he even realize they see him as a leader? It’s thanks to you, at least in part.”

 

Jannasilane shook her head, “It was always in him. He’ll be a good king,” she looked both proud and sad. She looked up at Blake then, “I am not completely naive. My Ali says he will not be king if he cannot have me and this he believes. It is truth, for now. He is also a man with a strong sense of duty and honor.” Blake grunted but said nothing. Together they watched the warrior, each lost in their own thoughts. The following morning they left Soldier’s Peak accompanied by more than thirty former werewolves.

 

“Alistair, you speak Templar so why don’t you take Stryder to the Knight-Commander. I promised to help Oghren with a little project, I’ll tell you about it later.” They were standing on the shore of the lake, watching the sun sparkles on the surface of the water. For a change they were able to travel quickly from Soldier’s Peak.

 

“Good idea, for some reason he doesn’t think you respect his authority,” Alistair snickered. “Don’t forget to let Fred know he’ll have some protection around here for a few weeks,” he reminded Blake before heading off with Stryder. Jannasilane and Wynne went with them to do some trading with the quartermaster.

 

Blake went inside with Oghren, “There she is, that’s Felsi.” He pointed to a cute dwarva cleaning tables at the other end of the bar. “Back me up, Warden.” He slapped a cocky grin on his face and swaggered towards the young woman, “Is there a baker nearby because that’s a sodding nice set of buns.”

 

Felsi looked up in disbelief, “Oghren? What are you doing here?”

 

The Warden listened in amusement to their bickering. He told Felsi that Oghren single-handedly fought off a slew of golems and whispered to the warrior he should tell Felsi that finding her was fate. The way they insulted each other reminded him of the night that Zevran stayed in their tent. The grove they were camping in was too small for all their tents so he took advantage of his friends’ generosity and invited the Antivan. _Package sighed theatrically when the elf joined them, “It is my misfortune to share a tent with three pretty men. I feel quite overshadowed.” She shook her head slowly and sorrowfully._

_“I’m sure Alistair will take pity on you and let you bask in his loveliness,” Blake quipped and helped Zevran arrange his belongings._

_“Yes,” Alistair said solemnly. “The Chantry teaches us to be kind to all those less fortunate than ourselves.” He settled her into his lap so she could lean against him. “So I will allow you to soak up my presence even though you have mousy, lifeless hair,” he kissed the top of her head and nuzzled the aforementioned hair. “Your dull mud-brown eyes may gaze adoringly upon me and I will strive to ignore your unfortunate skin,” he lightly kissed her freckles and rubbed his hands sensually up and down her arms. “I will even suffer the feel of your overly large bosom against my frame and allow you to place your barely adequate lips on mine.” He took possession of her scowling mouth and held her firmly in place, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. When she started to relax again he broke the kiss, “Ah, the sacrifices I make.” He only laughed and kissed her again when she elbowed him in a huff._

_Zevran was a bit bemused; he had certainly never seduced a woman in quite that fashion. “Warden,” he said quietly, “are they always like this?”_

_Blake snorted, “More often than you’d think. I doubt you’ll be bored.”_

_“I never once thought I would be bored in your tent, Warden,” Zevran’s voice was a hoarser version of his normally silky tones and it cut straight to Blake’s groin._

_Blake didn’t even try to hide the desire he felt when he looked into those amber eyes, “I can promise you that.” Slowly he traced the other man’s cheekbones and combed his fingers through that golden hair which had attracted him from the first. Gently he stroked the elf’s ear. He’d had elven lovers before and knew just how sensitive their ears were to touch as well as sound. When he rubbed his thumb across Zevran’s lips Zevran took the initiative. He opened his mouth so he could suck the Warden’s thumb, his tongue dancing around the digit in imitation of what it would do around his manhood. He was rewarded by the hitch in Blake’s breathing and felt his own manhood tighten. They paid scant attention to the closing of the ‘wall.’_

 

_“That was a good night. The canvas wall worked, or Alistair and Package suddenly got much better about not blushing.”_ He brought himself back to his current surroundings. Felsi and Oghren were still exchanging insults but it seemed friendlier so he stepped back to talk to Fred. As suspected the innkeeper was relieved to have some protection around the place even if it was only for a few weeks. He rejoined the two dwarves.

 

“Well, Felsi, it’s been good seeing ya but we gotta get back to business,” Oghren prepared to leave. “The war don’t wait for anybody.”

 

“But I haven’t called you an iron-bottomed nug-licker yet,” she protested.

 

“I’ll be back, you copper-skinned bronto,” he promised and left with Blake.

 

Once they were outside Blake wanted to know why he didn’t press his advantage and Oghren looked at him as if he were crazy, “Don’t you know anything about women? You gotta leave ‘em wanting more.” He belched and left to talk to General Lee about a chariot until Alistair returned.

 


	56. Dearest of Mothers

They weren’t in Orzammar for long which suited Blake just fine. He and Zevran fulfilled the contract on the ambassador before they all left for Cadash Thaig. Shale felt a sense of recognition when they arrived but her memories came back fully only when they found a huge statue honoring all those who volunteered to become golems. She was still trying to reconcile the dwarf she used to be with the golem she was now. Blake found the thaig to be unusual, _“Perhaps what I’ve seen so far isn’t typical but Cadash Thaig seemed quite green in comparison. Was it designed to be a farming community? Did dwarven engineering allow for sunlight to be magnified from small openings to the surface? I don’t recall seeing large portions of the ceiling collapsed.”_

 

“The meeting with Harrowmont went well,” Alistair broke into his thoughts. “Orzammar is a lot more peaceful now, though some Bhelen supporters are still causing trouble. In a few weeks Redcliffe will be a very busy place when the dwarven army arrives. Hopefully they and the Dalish will all be there when we return after the Landsmeet.”

 

Blake shrugged, “They should. The Dalish were going to leave for Redcliffe as soon as their hunters were healed. We couldn’t easily send them a message after the Landsmeet and I gave King Harrowmont the most accelerated time table I was able to calculate. He understands that events won’t be as swift as I would like but we both agreed it wouldn’t hurt for his armies to have some extra time to get used to the surface. Oghren adapted well but apparently some dwarves suffer from ‘sky sickness’ when they leave Orzammar the first time.”

 

“Now why can’t the darkspawn suffer like that?” Alistair snorted in mock complaint. “Our jobs would be so much easier if we could stand by their holes and as they come out just whack them while they’re dizzy and nauseous.”

 

“The life of a Grey Warden is rife with such injustices,” Blake intoned in deep, solemn voice with a fist over his heart for dramatic emphasis. His response drew a chuckle from his friend.

 

That night at camp Blake left Alistair trying to explain to Sten why they left the former werewolves, who chose to call themselves the Wolf family, at Lake Calenhad. Sten was frowning, “The curse is lifted so the Dalish have nothing left to fear. It was their Keeper who started the curse so why would they be angry with the Wolf people? Retaliation is a waste of time and energy in such circumstances.”

 

Sometimes Blake felt sorry for Sten, though he would never let the big Qunari know. Oghren was adapting to the surface more easily than Sten to being alone in a sea of humans. The Qun and the Qunari way of life were far more different from human society than Orzammar. He couldn’t imagine how he would fare if the situations were reversed. For once he was glad to see Morrigan beckoning to him in her imperious manner. He approached her with good humor, “What say you, glamorous Witch of the Wilds?”

 

“Been spending time with your elf, I see. Some of his mannerisms have rubbed off on you, though I do not think this is an improvement,” Morrigan responded snidely. Blake’s grin was pure satisfaction. “I see; I’m glad he provides you with a diversion from your burden.”

 

“Morrigan, are you asking for details? I didn’t think you cared,” Blake quipped.

 

Morrigan rolled her eyes, “Spare me, please, I beg of you. No, as much as you might like to inform me of such things I wished to speak to you of my mother’s grimoire. I have finished studying it. It is not as I expected,” she frowned. Blake couldn’t tell what emotions flitted across those golden eyes, only that they weren’t happy ones. He grew serious and waited for her to explain in her own good time. He sat down across the fire from her and watched her pull out the grimoire in question. “I had hoped to find the secrets to Mother’s spells, ones she never taught me. Or ways to increase power or mana, something I might be able to use for myself. Instead . . . have you ever wondered how she has managed to live so long?” she asked in what seemed an abrupt change of topic.

 

“Other than something to do with demons? Let me guess, she eats children and drinks the blood of virgins,” Blake tried to lighten the mood.

 

“That is closer than you think, Warden. Flemeth’s spirit may be immortal but the body she uses does not last forever. Periodically she needs to find a new one to groom and, eventually, inhabit. This grimoire details how she selects and prepares the chosen one prior to displacing them. I . . . I recognized many of the rituals. I am to be her next victim,” she declared her voice uneven and tainted with fear.

 

“I’m sorry, Morrigan,” he shook his head. “I know you and she aren’t exactly close . . . What are you going to do?”

 

“Sorry! Do?! There’s only one thing that can be done. Flemeth must die,” her voice caught a little on that last word. “And I dare not be there for I don’t know if she could still possess me if I am near. I must ask you to do it for me,” she finished quietly.

 

Blake stared at her, “You want me to kill Flemeth for you?” She nodded but said nothing else. “I’ll be right back,” he stood and quickly left her fire to search for Alistair. His fellow Warden wasn’t hard to find. Alistair and Jannasilane were cleaning dishes with General Lee. He couldn’t help snickering a little; he’d discovered the secret to the cease fire between his mabari and his friend. While Jannasilane gathered and cleaned the utensils Alistair set out the bowls and plates for General Lee to lick clean. Only after the mabari was done did they take soap and water to the dishes. Blake stepped out of the shadows, “Don’t tell Wynne or Morrigan what you’re doing or you’ll get a lecture from one and who-knows-what from the other. You probably shouldn’t tell Oghren either.”

 

His friends jumped guiltily and then Alistair grinned, “His tongue is rough enough to really scour the dishes, making it easier for us. I could have used him in the chantry kitchen.” General Lee barked happily and rolled over so Blake could rub his tummy.

 

Blake obliged and then watched the mabari run into the forest. He turned to his friends, “We need to talk. As soon as you’re done here come find me at Morrigan’s fire.”

 

“It must be serious if you’re asking me to go there,” Alistair said quietly. “Jannamylove, do you mind finishing without me?”

 

Before she could answer Blake spoke up, “I mean both of you.”

 

“Now that General Lee has done his part we won’t be long,” Alistair frowned as they finished working. Somehow he knew he wouldn’t like whatever had their fearless leader concerned.

 

“So, what’s up?” Alistair sat down with Jannasilane next to him. He looked from their leader to the witch and back again.

 

Morrigan was sullen, “I do not know why you wished their presence, Warden.”

 

“You’re not asking for something small, Morrigan,” Blake snapped. “This could affect our whole mission. If you remember we don’t have so many Grey Wardens that we can risk one or two on what is undoubtedly a dangerous undertaking. Explain or this discussion is finished.” Steel eyes clashed with golden wolf eyes but Morrigan gave way with bad grace.

 

“Very well, I’ll see if I can explain in words the fool can understand,” she grimaced and collected herself. _“That was stupid. I want them on my side and the first thing I do is insult the templar.”_ She took a deep breath and apologized, “I am sorry, Alistair. I am . . . upset. The Warden retrieved a grimoire for me from the Circle Tower. It belonged to my m-, that is Flemeth, a long time ago and she used to complain about losing it. Flemeth did not always like to teach me some of the more advanced versions of spells, telling me I wasn’t ready, and I thought I could use it to further my skills. And, if I am going to be honest, I looked forward to tweaking her nose out of joint later,” she couldn’t help a self-deprecating smile. “After a great deal of study I was able to get past the wards and begin the tedious task of interpreting Flemeth’s handwriting and rather cryptic notes. The grimoire wasn’t what I was expecting . . .”

 

“I take it you were disappointed,” Alistair ventured cautiously. “Was there anything useful at all?”

 

“ _Useful_? Oh yes, you could say the information in it was useful,” Morrigan’s voice rose in anger. “Instead of notes on spells and potions she has studied in her lifetime this details how Flemeth would take a mage child and groom them until they could eventually be taken over, possessed, by Flemeth. This is the secret of her immortality, why her physical form does not age and decay with the centuries. When the current form nears the end of its usefulness she readies another, and _mine_ is the one being readied. I will not stand by for her to take over my body, put it on like one of Leliana’s dresses and dispose of me in the process.”

 

“Morrigan wants us to kill Flemeth for her. She believes it possible that Flemeth could still take her over if she does it herself,” Blake added.

 

“And retrieve her true grimoire.”

 

“Would Flemeth move against you before the Archdemon was killed? I thought she wanted an end to the Blight,” Alistair stared at Morrigan, for once his expression gave nothing away. “And why send you with us if she planned on possessing you?”

 

“I . . . do not know. I see no way the Blight can help her. No matter how powerful she is she can’t control the Archdemon and certainly can’t defeat it. In the past it has taken years to defeat a Blight, decades even. She may not be able to wait that long. If she fought with you in my form would you notice? Perhaps sending me with you was a way to make me stronger, which I am. From what I’ve read that would make an easier transition for her.” There was nothing more to say. She would not beg the templar for her life.

 

Jannasilane spoke for the first time, “You are absolutely sure that this is what Flemeth intends?”

 

The witch shrugged irritably, “Do you really think I haven’t gone over it carefully to make sure? I’ve already . . . experienced some of the training? preparation? for this to happen. I would not have come to the Warden if I was not positive.”

 

“I am sorry, Morrigan,” compassion colored her voice.

 

Morrigan perceived it as pity, “Sorry? I am not some weak-willed twit who will wait for the axe to fall while wringing my hands and crying.”

 

“I do not believe you are weak of will, or are a twit. I am sorry that you had to experience such a betrayal by the one person you have known your entire life. This would be a blow to any, I think,” Jannasilane explained carefully. Morrigan accepted the explanation but still looked disgruntled.

 

After some time Alistair spoke, “Well I don’t really want Flemeth swooping down on us.”

 

“Yes, swooping is bad,” Blake dead-panned. Morrigan rolled her eyes and held her breath. “I want to know as much as possible about Flemeth’s capabilities and weaknesses,” Blake stated. He and Alistair drilled Morrigan with question after question.

 

Finally they were done. “This was a nice change,” Alistair said lightly.

 

“I sincerely doubt I’ll need to ask for _your_ help again,” Morrigan snarled.

 

“You are so touchy. I was referring to actually knowing what we’re going up against for a change,” the warrior said with a raised eyebrow and slight smile. “Having information, being able to make a plan . . . it's rather refreshing, really.”

 

Morrigan gritted her teeth, oh how she hated to be in this position. “Thank you, Grey Wardens. I will be greatly relieved when ‘tis done.” She scowled into the fire as they walked away, _“I hate being indebted to that fool templar. It is better than having the threat of possession, I suppose.”_

They reached the edge of the Korcari Wilds in good time. The Wardens, Jannasilane, Zevran and Leliana left the others in order to seek out Flemeth. Blake smiled to himself when he heard Shale quizzing Morrigan about her mother. Jannasilane was comfortable; she’d been in the Wilds before. She and her parents sometimes traveled there to gather herbs and plants as well as to trade with the Chasind. Leliana and Zevran, on the other hand, were more nervous than in the Brecelian Forest. They looked around warily every time a marsh bubble burst. “It is only gas from decaying plants and things escaping to the surface,” Jannasilane finally explained.

 

“I have heard tales of swamps like this. Deadly creatures live in the murk and come out to attack handsome travelers such as myself,” Zevran responded.

 

Jannasilane waved her arm airily and moved ahead, “that is only when it is much colder and night has fallen. Besides, the darkspawn have probably already killed most of them.” She smiled wickedly to herself, knowing they couldn’t see. Alistair controlled himself with an effort.

 

“I am much relieved,” the Antivan replied dubiously. “Which way to the Witch of the Wilds? The sooner we get this done the better I will like it.”

 

“I agree with Zevran,” Leliana grimaced as she pulled her boot out of the muck. “Why do swamps have to be so sticky?” she complained. She and Zevran continued to cast nervous glances at every bubbling puddle.

 

Flemeth was waiting for them in front of her hut. “So, Morrigan has found someone to dance to her tune, and such a pretty tune it is. She wants my grimoire? Fine, take it and go.”

 

Blake stood with Package beside him and they studied the old woman. “And what will you do?” he asked suspiciously.

 

“Do?” Flemeth chuckled. “Perhaps I will leave, perhaps I will watch Morrigan and see what she does; it could be quite amusing. Perhaps I will stay here at least until the Blight ends. You are still planning on ending it, are you not?”

 

“I don’t believe you. Morrigan has helped us and we’re not going to let you use her to extend your unnatural life. This ends now,” Blake declared. His companions readied themselves for the fight.

 

Flemeth’s smile was a deadly one of malice and amusement, “A battle you want, a battle you shall have. You will have to earn my grimoire.” She immediately turned into a dragon.

 

Fortunately they were prepared for this, which is why Blake chose Zevran and Leliana to go with them. Thanks to Package they had experience fighting dragons. Even so it was a vicious battle. Flemeth was more cunning than the high dragon of Haven and soon began concentrating her attention on the smallest of them. _“I suppose fighting the Archdemon will be something like this, only with darkspawn added for flavor,”_ his thoughts were grim as he dodged another blast of fire. Finally they were done and the dragon lay dead. Blake wiped his brow, “At least this was good practice for later. Let’s find that grimoire and then we can tell Morrigan that Flemeth is dead.”

 

Jannasilane hesitated before speaking softly, “I think perhaps it is more accurate to say that this form is dead, my Blake. I still sense . . . something.”

 

Blake looked at her, then at the dragon, “Well, this is the only form we can deal with, Package. We will just have to call it a day. Morrigan will have to be happy with what we were able to do.”

 

“Her face will probably crack if she has to be nice to me, so you better be the one to talk to her,” Alistair muttered. The others smiled, it was probably true.

 

Morrigan had been waiting on tenterhooks ever since they left camp. The relief that washed through her when she saw all of them alive and relatively unharmed, even the templar, was almost overwhelming. Blake left the others to come to the dark-haired witch waiting by her fire. He gave her the grimoire and a few other things stowed in a pack, “Flemeth is dead. This is all we found. I hope it’s what you wanted.” He was tired and wanted nothing more than a hot bath. Since that wasn’t possible he’d have to make do with a cold stream and the embrace of a hot-blooded Antivan elf.

 

“Thank you, Grey Warden. This means more to me than you can know. I doubt Flemeth is truly dead, but at least now I have some time to prepare for any future attacks. Maybe I will even find some clues in her true grimoire,” she watched him smile briefly and nod his head before leaving her, exhaustion evident in every stride.

 

Elsewhere, in a small dark space an intelligence was confused. _“I do not understand; I have not sensed such a thing in centuries. But that small woman . . . it does not make sense.”_ Its thoughts ran around, rummaging through memories before finally coming to a stop, _“I shall remember but I see no way in which it will matter.”_ It almost chuckled to itself, _“It was unexpected, how amusing to know that some things can still surprise me.”_

 


	57. Redcliffe Respite

It was nice being back in Redcliffe again even if it was only a brief respite. Eamon and the Wardens were frequently closed up in Eamon’s study going over plans and making sure they had done everything they could prior to leaving for Denerim. It was up to Teagan to confer with Ser Perth about the influx of troops they would be receiving in a few weeks since he would most likely be the face of Redcliffe greeting the dwarves and the Dalish when they reached the village. Some of the empty houses in the village could be used as temporary barracks for the dwarves and if that wasn’t enough they would use the chantry again. The elves would probably prefer not to be confined in buildings so they made sure suitable areas would be left clear for them to set up campsites, including grazing for the halla.

 

“Will they be insulted if they are not offered accommodations, Bann Teagan?” Ser Perth asked. “I do not wish to give offense to our allies by seeming discourteous.”

 

“I must admit that I am not that familiar with the ways of the Dalish myself. We can only hope that if we make it clear we are trying to think of what will be most comfortable for them,” his expression lightened when he saw the people coming towards them, “but perhaps our friends will have some ideas. My lady, you are looking lovely this morning and . . . Zevran isn’t it? Perhaps the two of you could give us some assistance in a matter of diplomacy.” He kissed her fingers before releasing her hand and speaking to the elf.

 

Jannasilane shook her head in mock reproof, “Please, Teagan, I have asked you to just call me Jannasilane. I have not much experience with diplomacy but if I can assist you in any way I will.”

 

“Prettily said, my most adorable Minit, though I suspect our esteemed Bann enjoys teasing you and making you blush. You do so most attractively.” Zevran’s words caused her to blush even more and he exchanged an amused glance with Teagan. “What would you have of us, my lord?” Teagan explained and Zevran sighed, “From my own experiences the Dalish can be quite prickly and our recent encounter did not change that opinion. I do not know if they will bring their entire clans or just their hunters but I think they will appreciate that you thought of the needs of their halla. I’m sure the Wardens will allow you to offer use of their tavern to the Dalish, though I doubt they will accept.”

 

“Everybody has to eat,” Jannasilane added quietly.

 

Teagan smiled, “An excellent thought my dear. Ser Perth, I will talk to Isolde and Eamon and suggest offering a midday meal to all troop leaders. It may be simple but it can act as a leveler. Alistair is lucky to have found a woman who is both lovely and intelligent.”

 

“Indeed he is,” Ser Perth bowed respectfully. “If you will excuse me, milord, I will begin making preparations. I will inform Murdock and request his assistance.”

 

“Good man,” Teagan nodded at the knight. Once Ser Perth left Teagan turned his attention back to the Wardens’ companions. “I have to agree with Eamon, what the Wardens have accomplished with your help is nothing short of remarkable. Tomorrow we will most likely be leaving to jump into a political maelstrom but this afternoon I ask that you join me at the tavern as my guests. I look forward to hearing more about your travels.” He offered his arm to Jannasilane and smiled at her.

 

_“An opportunity to tweak Alistair, it is a shame I am such a slave to temptation,”_ Zevran thought. “Bann Teagan, since the most beauteous Pocket Goddess is in your capable hands I shall return to the Castle and convey your request to the Grey Wardens. I look forward to rejoining you shortly,” with an airy wave he left them without waiting for a reply.

 

Jannasilane cocked her head and wondered what mischief he was contemplating and then put it out of her mind. She put her arm in Teagan’s and looked up at him, “So which of our travels do you wish me to speak of first? Although you will have a better telling from Leliana.”

 

Zevran chuckled to himself. His timing was perfect. Morrigan was in the great hall sneering equally at Wynne where she was trying to coax Connor into showing what he knew and Leliana who was talking with the Arlessa about the differences of the chantries in Orlais and Ferelden. He waited just outside the door until Eamon’s study opened and the Arl exited followed by the Wardens.

 

Morrigan raised an eyebrow when the elf entered the room, “Didn’t you leave with the toy a short time ago? Did you lose her somewhere, perhaps?”

Zevran noticed the stiffening of the large warrior’s shoulders. “I wished to speak to the Grey Wardens. But I am a gentleman and left the Pocket Goddess of the magnificent . . . hair in the capable hands of the handsome Bann Teagan. I believe they were headed to the tavern,” he added innocently. Morrigan smirked while Leliana and Wynne couldn’t help looking towards Alistair.

 

Blake exchanged a look of wicked glee with the Antivan but otherwise kept his expression carefully neutral. He could just about hear Alistair grinding his teeth but the big man was learning and didn’t overtly respond to the elf. “What did you want to discuss, Zev?” He and Alistair agreed to let the Dalish use the tavern if they wished and Eamon agreed to leave instructions for a noonday offering for the leaders of the dwarves and elves.

 

“Grey Warden, there is very little else to discuss. I suggest we reconvene after dinner and tentatively plan on leaving for Denerim in the morning,” Eamon wanted to spend the afternoon with his family since Isolde and Connor would remain in Redcliffe.

 

“You are getting better, you know,” Leliana told Alistair as they made their way to the tavern. Blake and Zevran were just ahead of them.

 

Alistair looked at his friend askance, “Better at what? Discerning the best cheese, not inhaling my food before my host takes two bites, or-”

 

“Not responding to deliberate attempts to tease or harass you,” the bard’s mouth quirked.

 

“Disappointed that Alistair didn’t say anything about Package being with Bann Teagan?” Blake asked his lover.

 

Zevran thought about it, “I did not think he would say anything. Arl Eamon was with you so I did not think Alistair would go into a jealous snit in front of him. No, I was quite satisfied knowing he was irritated. I would have liked to see a flush of temper but he is becoming better at controlling himself.”

 

“Let’s see what I can do,” Blake said quietly. He slowed his pace until he was even with Alistair. In a show of concern he spoke to his friend, “Alistair, you do know that Bann Teagan will treat her with the utmost respect? Just because he is attractive and personable does not mean he will try and entice her away from you with his charms. He’s very considerate in that respect. Not that Package would be tempted away from you, of course,” he added hastily with just the slightest hint of doubt.

 

A muscle in Alistair’s cheek started to twitch with Blake’s words. With some effort he relaxed his face and then shook his head at his friend, “I’d say he’s corrupted you,” he looked briefly towards the elf, “But you had a perverse sense of humor before he showed up. You’re perfect for each other.”

 

When they entered the tavern Jannasilane and Teagan were seated at one end of the long table with some of the villagers standing nearby listening to her animated conversation. She’d barely touched the pint of ale in front of her while Teagan’s was nearly empty. _“I hope that’s her first,”_ Alistair thought, remembering how little ale she drank in Orzammar.

 

“Wardens, come join us. My lady Jannasilane has been entertaining us with her account of a talking tree in the Brecelian Forest,” Teagan waved them forward and stood as Leliana approached. He wasn’t surprised when Alistair quickly moved to sit on the other side of Jannasilane and smiled to himself when the warrior brought her hand to his lips in a blatant but non-aggressive display of possession. “Did all of you see the poet tree?”

 

Leliana giggled musically, “It is difficult, is it not, to speak of such a being without falling into a pattern of rhymes? I have made my living telling stories to weary travelers and singing songs to crowded rooms but when we met the grand old oak I was speechless. Many battles, terrible battles, have been waged in the ancient forest and we needed to go into the very heart. They say if you feel the trees are watching you, they probably are. So many deaths at one time, so much blood spilled and soaked into the ground thinned the Veil between our world and the Fade . . .” she easily slipped into storytelling mode and enthralled all who listened. They could see the forest’s eerie green light, crunch the leaves underfoot, and feel the chill of fear when confronted by werewolves.

 

“Werewolves? Go on, I thought they were dead as Dane,” one listener breathed incredulously.

 

“Sh,” hissed others and listened to the pretty bard.

 

“. . . the price for its help? Retrieve an acorn stolen by a mad hermit,” Leliana’s eyes twinkled at their surprise.

 

“All it wanted was a bloody acorn? Wish I could pay my workers in acorns,” one farmer jested.

 

“Accordin’ to what I heard I thought you already were,” shouted somebody, causing a great deal of laughter to ripple around the room. The farmer was notoriously tight with his money. Teagan indicated they needed to get back to the castle and it was with regret that the villagers said goodbye the Wardens and their companions. The next morning they left for Denerim.


	58. Barbed Words and Trouble

“He is more impressive, more compelling than I thought he would be,” Jannasilane remarked as they strolled the marketplace and listened to the rumors. “The snake was much like I expected but it is easy to see how Loghain carries the title Hero of River Dane. I did not like the way he looked at you, my Ali, or the manner in which he spoke to Arl Eamon and our Blake. I did not expect him to be quite so . . .” she narrowed her eyes in concentration as she tried to think of the right word. Loghain had surprised her. His obsession, even though it bordered on madness, had not dulled his intelligence, his cunning or his charisma.

 

She was worried about Blake and it was easy to see that Alistair was as well. Ever since Loghain and Howe left the estate Blake had been withdrawn. He said the right words and his movements were as smooth as ever but those closest to him could tell that he was shaken seeing Howe again. Alistair leapt on Eamon’s suggestion that they wander Denerim a bit and discreetly sound out the newly arrived Bannorn. Zevran and Leliana were using their talents elsewhere to determine the mood of the city.

 

“You do know you are not supposed to find someone else _compelling_.” He squeezed her hand playfully. “Perhaps we should go to the Pearl and visit Peggy,” Alistair suggested, winking at Jannasilane. “She was helpful to us before, maybe she can help us again.”

 

“Mmm hmmm,” Blake replied, his thoughts elsewhere. _“When that smarmy piece of rat slime walked into Eamon’s I wanted to kill him right then. He wouldn’t have dared come without Loghain and Ser Cauthrien. She certainly detests him. Now that I’ve seen him without the distractions of king and surrounding army I can understand why so many of the Bannorn don’t want to go against Loghain. He has a presence people won’t readily forget. He should be too smart to listen to Howe. Does he not see or was Howe the only one who seemed to agree with him instead of Cailan about the Grey Wardens and Orlais? Or just the only one willing to get his hands dirty.”_ He knew he had to shake off the cold rage he was feeling or he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. He forced himself to pay attention to the talk around him and finally something his friends said reached him, “Wait, Peggy? When did the two of you get to know one of the working girls at the Pearl? And just how _helpful_ was she?”

 

Alistair muttered, “Thought that would get your attention but it took longer than I expected. And no, I am not going to give you any details.”

 

Inside the Gnawed Noble Tavern Blake recognized an older man sitting alone in a corner. Bryce Cousland always considered Arl Wulff a good example of a ruler and steward to his lands. He, and Fergus before him, had spent time with the West Hills army and on rare occasions the two families visited. Blake had a sneaking suspicion that they hoped he and one of the daughters would make a match but it didn’t matter now. The man seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn and remote so he approached carefully, “Good day, my lord.”

 

Wulff turned his head slowly, as if the words had to travel a great distance to reach him. He looked the young man in front of him up and down trying to place him. Recognition and grief caused him to briefly close his eyes; he sighed, “Young Lord Cousland, shouldn’t you be dead? I suppose you escaped and you’re looking for help to reclaim your family’s lands; well you’ll have to go elsewhere. West Hills has fallen, lad, and my sons with it; the darkspawn control it now. All of southern Ferelden covered by black clouds, the ground rotting beneath your feet, plagues and darkspawn raids going on until even the crows get sick of the smell of carrion.”

 

Blake’s shoulders sagged, “I knew it was bad in the south but I hadn’t heard about any specific losses and I had hoped . . . News doesn’t always reach me on my travels. I am sorry, my lord, I wish I had more than condolences to offer. I shall leave you alone in your grief.” He bowed slightly and moved away. Arl Wulff returned to his private contemplations before Blake could finish.

 

The Warden didn’t speak to his friends until they were well out of earshot, “I knew his sons, though not well. Highever was fairly peaceful so Father, as part of our military training, sent us to assist and learn from West Hills. It’s a wild and dangerous area. Arl Wulff protected his Arling by virtue of constant vigilance and rebuffing frequent threats from the Chasind, the Avvars, as well as the usual bandits and other predators. Patrols didn’t usually return without marks of at least one skirmish. You quickly learned to be on your toes. No amount of sparring or study could prepare you for the reality of combat. Not that it mattered when it would have counted the most,” he added bitterly.

 

He put his private concerns aside and redirected his attention to the task at hand. He saw a few other nobles he recognized and opted to eavesdrop rather than approach them directly. He didn’t want to bring up any upsetting memories as he’d done with Arl Wulff. Nor did he want them speaking of his own losses.

 

“I’m not sure we learned much that helps us,” Alistair sighed. “A number are willing to listen to Eamon but they also grumble about his timing.”

 

“That’s better than I expected. I’m satisfied that so many have a relatively open mind,” said Blake. “One thing you need to know about the Bannorn, if they have nothing else they’ll grumble about the sun in a noon sky. Now let’s go talk to your friend at the Pearl. Tell me how you got to know her,” he teased.

 

Jannasilane spoke up, “You and Zevran were gone with your pirate for such a long time. We did not meet my Ali’s sister right away and Peggy was quite concerned to see to our, our comfort.” Guileless eyes looked up at the dark-haired rogue. She began to blush under his intense scrutiny.

 

“Your comfort, eh? I wonder what you mean by that,” Blake continued studying her until she looked away and he switched his attention to the former templar. Alistair was looking ahead but Blake could see he was also blushing. He slapped the man on his shoulders and slipped his arm around her waist, “Never mind, I’ll find out soon enough.”

 

Elsewhere Leliana and Zevran were working together. Her trail became entangled with his so they decided to combine their efforts for the moment. After a while of moving through alleyways Zevran spoke softly, “I believe I see one of my former brethren ahead of us. Another is behind. We should separate, my dear Leliana.”

 

“You suspect a trap, then. Perhaps we can turn it around,” her eyes lit up with mischief.

 

“You are quite beautiful when planning something naughty, but I suspect that the trap is not for me. It could be for our fearless leader. If you were to circle around to follow our follower . . .”

 

The bard smiled, “I will be able to help no matter which trap is sprung.” Zevran admired her bardic training when she raised her voice so their pursuer could hear but not seem like she was raising it at all. “Zevran, this is pointless. I shall go back to the Chantry and see if some of the sisters have returned. If not I shall take another turn around the market.”

 

Zevran lifted her hand to his lips, “Until later, lovely Leliana.” Briefly he watched her carelessly dance away before continuing on his path. His pursuer didn’t hesitate to follow the elf. Zevran smiled to himself as he slipped into the shadows, _“I can’t make it too easy or the pigeon will suspect something is amiss.”_ He continued on his way but with the air of a man who did not want to be seen. He allowed his shadow to catch slight glimpses here and there until he became used to Zevran being out of his sight for short periods. At the same time he gradually closed the distance between him and the target ahead. Being both the hunted and the hunter in this game was exhilarating and fired up all the old juices. Soon he recognized where he was being led, _“Hmmm, an excellent spot for a meeting of the less-than-upstanding. It also holds potential for an ambush, but of whom?”_

He allowed his pursuer one final glimpse before going deeper into the shadows. He eyed the crumbling wall and smiled; it was perfect. With a quick jump he silently climbed to the top of the wall and from there to the nearby rooftop. He would need to be especially careful; if these were Taliesen’s men as he suspected they knew of his predilection for working the heights. Zevran kept his body low as he searched the other rooftops but saw nothing. He watched and waited. _“Ah, Ezhrude has improved,”_ he thought when he recognized his shadow. Ezhrude moved carefully as he searched but Zevran was interested to note that finding him was not the Crow’s primary purpose but more of a precaution against being attacked from behind. _“Not improved enough but I shall let that pass for now. It will be more profitable, I think, to follow him. I just need to not fall into a trap myself.”_ Carefully he followed Ezhrude from the rooftops.

 

He flitted from one roof to the next and saw Ezhrude catch up to the other Crow. He thought it might be Greta but he was too far away to be sure. He did see her scan the skyline but he kept low and still as a statue lest he give away his position. The two Crows moved forward and he moved as well, keeping to the chimney shadows as much as possible. One thing he now knew, he was not their primary target. Oh, he was sure Taliesen didn’t plan on leaving Ferelden without him or his corpse but the other man was almost unnaturally patient. There was that one time . . . Zevran shook his head and concentrated. The area up ahead was on a path favored by the Grey Wardens whenever they left the Market District. Sure enough less than an hour later a man entered the area, signaled and faded into the shadows. Zevran crept closer.

 

“Have either of you noticed we’re being watched?” Blake asked the other two. “I haven’t been able to determine who but I’m pretty sure we’ve been under observation since we left the tavern; although they probably couldn’t see you, Package.”

 

She glared at him but before she could say anything Alistair interrupted, “If not it’s because your beauty is so dazzling it blinded them, my love.” He brought her hand to his lips. She snorted but couldn’t help smiling. Blake grinned at the two of them. “I wondered a few times if somebody was watching but I never saw anyone. Do you think they're Loghain’s spies, the snake’s spies, Crows or somebody else?” he asked their leader.

 

Blake looked around carefully, “I don’t know. Just be aware of any little thing that seems odd, other than Package that is.” The glare she gave him promised future retribution. Blake just laughed.

 

From his perch on the roof Zevran could see the Wardens and Pocket Goddess, _“Braska, I was afraid of this.”_ Carefully he eased down and trusted that Leliana was in a position to help. He thought he knew where she was and if he was correct she had a good vantage point from which to use her impressive archery skills. Taliesen was smart so he probably brought the entire cell with him, which meant about 20 Crows.

 

“Let’s see if we can flush out whoever is watching us with a bit of foolishness,” Blake suggested. “We’re going to teach Package the Remigold. I’m not worried so much about who might confront us; I want to try to locate those who will attack from the shadows.”

 

Alistair pouted and fluttered his eyelashes, “But I don’t have a pretty dress.”

 

“Well, do the best you can,” Blake smirked.

 

Leliana did have a good vantage point. Not only could she see the Crow who followed Zevran she could see several others and was in excellent position to deal some damage. Her curiosity was piqued when bewilderment rippled among the hidden assassins.

 

Zevran couldn’t believe what he was seeing: the Warden stopped in the middle of the large alley and started positioning the templar and Pocket Goddess into what was definitely not a battle formation. He noticed his former associates were confused and realized that was the Warden’s game. He chuckled to himself when the dance lesson started, _“My dear Warden, you are definitely not boring.”_

 

As he was taking Package through the beginning steps of the Remigold Blake observed archers hidden in various recesses. “Do you see anything?”

 

“I see many things,” she snorted. “However if you mean possible attackers, yes. There are also traps at the bottom of the steps and in front of the archers opposite.” She twirled under his arm as he instructed and he led her back to Alistair.

 

“The bulk of them are going to be up there,” Alistair warned as he took over from Blake. “We should toss her up on the wall so she can do her battle song thing and then leap away. Can you handle that, my love?” he asked worriedly. Jannasilane grinned with devilish glee and nodded.

 

Hidden in the alcove atop the stone steps Taliesen was incredulous, “These Fereldans are mad, stark, raving mad. When this is done I’m returning to Antiva on the first ship,” he muttered to his second. She nodded in agreement. When the mad dancers were closer he decided it was time to end the frivolity. “So here are the infamous Grey Wardens frolicking in the back alleys. And where is the mighty Zevran?”

 

“Zevran is dead,” Blake answered calmly.

 

“Don’t even try, Warden. We know he travels with you,” Taliesen sneered.

 

Zevran had quietly slit Greta’s throat and couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the exchange. However he recognized an entrance cue when he heard one and he strolled into the alley behind the Grey Wardens, “Here I am Taliesen.”

 

The Crow leader spoke to his old comrade, “You can come back to us, Zev. We’ll tell them that you were infiltrating the Grey Wardens; it was a backup plan in case the first didn’t work. You don’t have to stay in this cold country.”

 

Blake narrowed his eyes, “He doesn’t need you.”

 

“You lie,” Jannasilane hissed.

 

Zevran shook his head sorrowfully, “I am not going back, and _you_ should have stayed in Antiva my friend.”

 

Taliesen sneered at the elf and signaled the attack. Jannasilane’s battle song stunned the Crows long enough for Blake to disable the traps while Zevran and Alistair took out the nearest assassins. From her vantage point Leliana sent several arrows through Ezhrude and several other more distant attackers. Finally only Taliesen and two of his lieutenants remained. Blake and Zevran flanked Taliesen while Alistair and Jannasilane each took on a lieutenant. Leliana circled the alley in a diminishing spiral to make sure no surprises lay in wait.

 

Finally it was over. Zevran let out a gust of air and stared down at his former comrade, “So it is done, Taliesen is dead.” His tone was flat except for a tinge of sadness.

 

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Blake asked cautiously. The others backed away and gave them some privacy. They started looting bodies and looking for any useful items while the two rogues talked.

 

Zevran’s expression lightened and he smiled, “A very good thing indeed. It occurs to me that I have a freedom I have never had before. The Crows will assume that I also am dead. I could go anywhere I wished, start a new life.”

 

Blake felt a fist closing over his heart and slowly squeezing. He didn’t want Zevran to leave but he wasn’t going to force him to stay, either. It had to be the Antivan’s decision. His words were measured, “I’d like you to stay but I won’t hold you to an oath made at the point of a sword. You can go if that is what you want, or you can also stay here with us.”

 

“Could I?” he examined the Warden carefully.

 

“As a friend,” Blake added. He didn’t go any further because it might scare Zevran off. They’d never talked about their feelings and he realized he cared for the Antivan as more than a friend or casual lover.

 

Zevran lifted an eyebrow, “A friend, hmmm, I think I like the sound of that. Very well, I shall stay at your side and help you slay this pesky Archdemon.”

 

“Good, it’ll be easier to do this,” Blake said before sliding his hand into Zevran’s hair and holding him close while he kissed him.

 

“And so many other things,” Zevran murmured against his lips. He cupped the larger man promising future delights. Blake’s indrawn hiss was music to his ears. Zevran broke away with a satisfied smile. “I do believe we have other things to do just now.”

 

Blake took a minute to get under control before speaking, “We better get back to Arl Eamon. We’ve got a chance at the Landsmeet but it’s definitely not a lock, hopefully he’ll have some ideas.”

 


	59. Not another Hoop but Definitely a Hurdle

Alistair grunted, “I’m tired of the blasted Mac Tirs and their arrogance. What was she thinking? Going to Howe’s lair without reasonable guard was a fool’s game and she’s not supposed to be a fool. Now she’s stuck behind a magicked door and we have to find the mage to break the spell.”

 

“This is a good thing, my Ali,” Jannasilane began only to have her friends look at her as if she was crazy. She just lifted her chin and continued, “Riordan is here. I can feel him and now we can rescue him.”

 

“Janna . . .” Alistair didn’t know what to say, she seemed so sure even though it was improbable. “If he’s here maybe we’ll find evidence in Howe’s room, which we’re going to anyway,” he exchanged glances with Blake who frowned a little at her insistence.

 

Her smile was dazzling, “Thank you, my Ali. I know you and Blake have doubted but you will see.”

 

The Warden explored a chest in Howe’s rooms, “These are some of the papers Riordan was working on. I can’t decode the encryption but I recognize the writing.” Blake found a Warden amulet and more papers but nothing else. “The documents could have been stolen but there’s no way the amulet could have come from anywhere but Riordan’s bo- person,” he amended.

 

A door behind a tapestry led to the dungeons. “This is . . . disturbing,” Leliana said quietly. “Was this always the Arl’s room or was it converted for this access?”

 

“Somebody has an odd sense of entertainment even by my standards,” Zevran’s eyes pierced the shadows looking for danger. Carefully they descended to a small landing. A guard standing in front of a cell was distracted long enough to turn his back on the prisoner inside. He paid for his mistake. They stopped Jannasilane from going forward until the prisoner came into view.

 

“Rio!” she said happily and ran forward to hug him.

 

Riordan couldn’t believe his good fortune, “It is good to see you again, little one.” For just a moment he allowed himself to enjoy her presence and his new freedom. He looked at the rest of his rescue party and then down at the small woman in his arms. “You will never know how glad I am that you were not captured as well for Howe’s men are not kind to their female prisoners.” He let go of her and smiled to himself when she returned to Alistair’s side. “But surely you did not risk all to find me?” he questioned.

 

“No. I didn’t really believe you were still alive, though I am glad Package proved me wrong. Anora is being held and we have to find Howe’s pet mage.”

 

“Then you will need to go down and further into the dungeons, my friends. I would go with you but I am afraid that weak as I am I would be more hindrance than help.” Blake returned the documents and other items to him and Riordan quickly left. He smiled to himself when he heard Alistair promising never to doubt his love again. _“It is good to remember there is joy in the world.”_

 

The Wardens were sickened by the number of torture rooms and cages they found as they moved forward on their search. At least they were able to rescue one young man from further torture and free others. When they reached Howe the snake was waiting for them, a sneer on his thin face when they entered the last block of cells. “So, the mighty Wardens are reduced to attacking a man in his own home. Did Eamon lose confidence in his mighty powers of persuasion? _You_ should have died at Ostagar,” his eyes never left Blake’s face.

 

“It appears that neither you nor the darkspawn could kill me,” Blake taunted.

 

“There it is, that damned Cousland arrogance always coming between me and what’s mine,” Howe spat the words out. “But your perversions will now come to an end. I sent Nathaniel to the Free Marches before you could seduce him away from his duty, away from what’s right and holy.” He scoffed at Blake’s confusion. “I saw you at the river, the two of you naked after a swim. He didn’t understand and ignored the sight of your poisonous root waving in the wind but I knew what you were about. There’s no way I would allow your contamination to spread. And your parents tolerated you! Your pathetic bitch of a mother licked my boots before I skewered your father. I let my men spread her legs like the aging trash she was but I wasn’t going to demean myself with her fil-”

 

Howe’s taunts stunned him and then created a red haze in Blake’s mind. He charged without his usual finesse, exactly what Howe had been hoping for. However the oily Arl underestimated how skilled the young Warden had become. Even as he lay dying on the floor, blood rapidly spilling from his wounds, Howe continued to spit out his poison. Blake watched and felt cold, empty, and dirty. Jannasilane put her hands on his arms to get his attention. She winced at the expression in his eyes, “Blake, he was lying. He wanted to torture you, do not let him succeed.”

 

“Was he? Was it all lies?” Blake blanked his expression. “Let’s make sure there are no more surprises before we go upstairs to rescue Anora.” He forced himself to put his emotions aside. He wouldn’t, couldn’t take any comfort offered by his friends, especially Zevran.

 

The hallways leading back to Anora were empty and put their party on edge. Even so they weren’t quite prepared to find Loghain’s second waiting for them with a large contingent of men. She wouldn’t listen to anything Blake had to say. “Ser Cauthrien, thank the Maker! These brigands are trying to kidnap me,” Anora’s words were the last words they heard before they were attacked.

 

“Take the Wardens, Loghain wants the three of them dead or alive,” Loghain’s second yelled. Many more men died in that battle but ultimately Ser Cauthrien won. Leliana and Zevran were left behind on the hard floor while the Wardens and Jannasilane were carted away. Fortunately for Anora she and her spymaid slipped away during the confusion.

 

Zevran helped Leliana to her feet, “We had best hurry back to Eamon and inform him of what has transpired.” Leliana looked around at all the death and her pretty features hardened. Quickly the two rogues made their way through the back alleys. _“She does not know it but Anora has tied her life to that of the Warden. If he dies she will soon follow,”_ he thought grimly. The queen had a head start but Zevran and Leliana moved quickly and arrived at Eamon’s only moments behind her. Zevran crossed his arms as he listened to her, his stance making it very clear that she was not being completely honest. The only useful thing to come out of her mouth was the location of the Wardens. Fort Drakon was not what he wanted to hear.

 

As soon as Anora left for her room with Erlina in tow they began to make plans. “I was held there briefly when I was first questioned,” Riordan explained as he began drawing a diagram. “You will not be able to simply force your way inside; likely as not the Wardens would be killed before you could get to them as the holding cells are on the opposite end from the entrance. What I do not understand is why they also took the little one for she is not a Grey Warden.”

 

“They think she is, Ser Cauthrien mentioned three Wardens and in no way could Jannasilane be mistaken for you,” Leliana explained.

 

“Or they know of the closeness between the Pocket Goddess and her Wardens and plan to use that against them in some way,” Zevran added.

 

“By the Maker I hope you are wrong,” Eamon was troubled by the possibility. She was a sweet child and he knew that Alistair would be damaged if something happened to her. “Planning jailbreaks is something for which I am not equipped so I shall leave that in your capable hands. I shall go instruct the guards to make sure nobody tries to get in to the estate; at least not until after the rescue. I think it best if even they do not know the queen is in residence, fortunately she was still disguised as a guard. My resources are at your disposal.” The Arl left them.

 

Finally they had a plan. Riordan and Wynne would wait in the Wardens’ apartment. None of them believed that the prisoners wouldn’t have some injuries and the apartment was much closer to the Fort than Arl Eamon’s. Nor did they want to leave a trail directly to the estate and the queen. Morrigan would make sure that Her Majesty and maid stayed put and didn’t communicate with anyone. Leliana and Zevran would bluff their way inside with a ‘personal delivery’ while the warriors familiarized themselves with all of Arl Eamon’s men and would patrol the perimeter of the estate.

 

It took two days to get everything they needed and they used that time to gather a little more information. Leliana prayed to the Maker that their efforts would be rewarded and their friends returned to them. Eamon’s political skill was put to the test as he continued his normal activities and sounded out other nobles without giving a hint that anything was wrong or that the queen was his guest. Morrigan amused herself by doing little things to irritate Anora even if it was just a rustling sound in the wall or phantom bugs crawling across the floor.

 

Before daylight the bard and the assassin left without any observers detecting their departure.


	60. Fort Drakon

“Mnghm,” Alistair groaned.

 

“Glad you’re awake. I’d hate for you to miss out on our deluxe accommodations. Ser Cauthrien is an excellent hostess; I’ve never had such a warm welcome. The cold stone floor and lack of blankets are especially nice,” Blake kept his tone light while he scrutinized his fellow Warden chained to the wall. Colorful bruises covered Alistair’s skin from head to toe; welts from the whip rose from his flesh and blood ran from various cuts. The manacles had to be cutting into his wrists and ankles from the force of holding up his weight.

 

Alistair blinked slowly to try and get his eyes to focus. It hurt to move his head, “Mnghm,” he groaned again. He tried to move and stared at the chain on his arm. He frowned and shook his arm to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. He looked at Blake and then at his feet. “Why do I have chains, don’t they know you’re the sneaky one?” he spoke as if he was trying to remember how to form the words.

 

Before Blake could answer a fellow prisoner in the next cell spoke up, “Yer the one what nearly pulled the head off one o’ them guards wi’ yer bare hands is why. Ain’t ne’er seed nuthin’ like it. Yer’s like one o’ them rage demons when they took yer friend away.”

 

Blake and Alistair looked at each other in alarm; Alistair started shaking his head in denial. Blake cleared his throat, “Our friend?”

 

“Yous don’t remember? Well, yer both were beat up more’n a bit and you,” he pointed at Blake with his chin, “was out. Little curvy bit wi’ lots ‘n’ lots o’ hair. Yesterday that was, ain’t seen her since. Been hours since I heard any screams. Seen lots o’ guards, though. Took her to the room t’other side o’ the racks most likely. More private like,” the fellow looked from one Warden to the other and took an involuntary step back. It wasn’t the steel in Blake’s eyes which frightened him it was the chill tendrils of death emanating from Alistair. It didn’t matter that he was chained and in a different cell; if death had a face it was that of the bruised and bloodied blond warrior.

 

Blake began looking for something to pick the locks while Alistair began testing his chains for weakness. Fear and rage gave him the extra strength to shift the wall mount of the chain attached to his shield arm. He focused his energy on that bit of metal but it was slow going. He worked through exhaustion and almost had it pulled out of the wall when he heard a familiar Antivan voice, “My dear Warden, did you miss me?” He paid no attention as Blake quickly filled them in and smiled grimly when he heard a harsh “Braska!”

 

“Drink this, Alistair,” Leliana said gently while Zevran began working on the locks. She held a health poultice to his lips and when he finished gave him another. He could feel the strong potion working inside him and giving him a sorely needed lift. “We will find her, Alistair, and you will need your strength.” Blake put on a guard’s armor and stood watch at the door until his friend was free.

 

The templar didn’t bother with armor other than a small shield. Finding something which might fit would take too much time. He grabbed a sword and started down the stairs where the racks were, the three rogues behind him. They didn’t see a cell but they did see a heavy wooden door with a guard leaning against it. The guard seemed to be giving all his attention to whatever he could hear inside the room and didn’t notice Blake creeping up on him until a dagger was at his throat, “Be glad I don’t have much time,” the rogue whispered as he slit the man’s throat. He opened the door and Alistair walked in.

 

Another guard was lightly kicking at the naked, unmoving woman lying on a meager pile of straw, “Come on you miserable cow, show a little life. Poking you now is like poking a corpse. Stupid Kane would have to break your stupid jaw; couldn’t just knock you silly before shoving himself down your throat.”

 

Those were the last words he ever said. Alistair picked him up by the throat and held him against the wall. The guard pissed his pants when he saw the face staring at him. Alistair said nothing as he squeezed his throat and gutted him like a pig. He dropped the guard in his own entrails and left him to go to Jannasilane’s side. His heart nearly broke when he saw her glazed and vacant stare, the pool of blood between her thighs. Leliana was tearing her sleeve so she could wrap up Jannasilane’s jaw before they moved her. The bard seemed unaware of the tears dripping down her face as she worked. Gently Alistair took one hand in his, “We’ll get you out of here I promise my love.”

 

The Antivan was filled with pity as he looked down at Jannasilane. He judged she had been left to lie in her own blood for some hours. He moved so he could look at Blake and pretended not to see the despair in his lover’s eyes. He set about removing the ties that were still in place, wincing as he saw how deeply the leather restraints had burned into Jannasilane’s wrists and ankles. When Leliana was done he helped her lift the broken doll of a girl into the arms of her lover.

 

Sensing him she mewled against his chest, “I’m sorry, Alistair, I didn’t know,” before lapsing into unconsciousness. Alistair carefully stood with his precious bundle, her blood mixing with his as it trickled down his body. The tenderness with which he held her was at odds with the menace and rage in his eyes. That the strong emotions warring within him didn’t tear him apart was a surprise.

 

They found their belongings in a chest near the door but didn’t dare try to clothe her for fear of doing more damage. Leliana slipped away and returned with several blankets. Carefully they wrapped her and fashioned a rough sling so Alistair could hold her but also be able to fight if necessary. They quickly killed any guards they encountered, leaving a dark red river behind them. Fortunately they encountered no trouble in the alleys and byways of Denerim though that could be due to the cold promise of death radiating from the templar. Once they got close to their destination Leliana, after a brief word of encouragement, left as planned.

 

Riordan and Wynne were watching for them. “You’re back, thank the Maker, we were so worried-” Wynne’s welcome died in her throat when she saw the bundle in Alistair’s arms. She didn’t need Zevran shaking his head to realize something was terribly wrong. The fear and sorrow in the Wardens’ eyes was enough. Alistair moved past her to gently lay Jannasilane down on the bed. Carefully he and Wynne removed the blankets swaddling her while Riordan, Blake and Zevran watched anxiously. Wynne couldn’t help hissing in horror at the sight of the broken girl lying before her. “I’m going to need a lot of hot water. Blake, Alistair . . . you need to leave her to me for now. Since you’re walking I am assuming your injuries can wait. We weren’t sure what you would need so we brought some clothes for all of you. I’ll tell you what I can when I can.”

 

Alistair set his chin, “I want to stay with her; she may need me. She lost a lot of blood.” He started to brush his hand over Jannasilane’s hair but stopped in case he accidentally hurt her.

 

The healer was blunt though her heart ached to see his pain, “Alistair, your emotions are all over the place and right now you’re a distraction I can’t afford if I am to give her my best. Do you trust me?” Reluctantly he nodded. “Then go and let me do what I need to do. You’ll be a greater help to her when you’re more settled. She will need you then.” The big man got up and limped out, his shoulders sagging.

 

At the door he turned, “You have to heal her, Wynne, I . . .” He pounded the door frame once and left.

 

“I know you do not approve of me, oh illustrious healer, but I can assist you,” Zevran did not wait for an answer. He picked up a cloth and gently began cleansing the blood from one hand. He gave Wynne a crooked grin, “I have a delicate touch and can provide you with references if you like.” He wasn’t surprised when she rolled her eyes and then ignored him after she was satisfied with his efforts.

 

With a deep sigh Wynne turned her attention back to the girl lying on the bed, “Now, my dear, you have been through a horrible ordeal. It won’t be easy for you but don’t give up,” she said quietly. Wynne continued to talk encouragingly while she concentrated on finding the source of blood loss. “Oh, child,” she breathed when she did. Zevran looked up but didn’t say anything.

 

Wynne spent hours with Jannasilane. When she finally stood she swayed a little and had to place her hand on the wall in order to brace herself and for once welcomed the Antivan’s support. _“I feel 100 years older,”_ she looked down at the girl who was now sleeping courtesy of a small spell. Slowly she moved to the doorway and watched the inhabitants of the other room for a moment. Alistair was cleaning blades and armor with a controlled viciousness, Blake was standing by the window looking into nothing and Riordan was making soup that none of them seemed to care about. Alistair was the first to notice her.

 

“Some of her injuries were severe though not as extreme as I first thought when you laid her down. The burns around her wrists and ankles went almost to the bone; I don’t know if she will ever lose the scars but she won’t have any additional damage or lose even partial use. There were a number of cuts, tears and bruises but the worst injury and the one which took longest to heal was to her jaw. Broken jaws are troubling when there is no other trauma but what I don’t understand is how her larynx became scraped and torn on the inside.”

 

“One of the _guards,_ ” Zevran sneered, “broke her jaw when she fought against his use of her mouth. He did not let that stop him from continuing. At least they are dead now, a better death than they deserve.” _“Or they soon will be, this I swear,”_ he promised himself. Fort Drakon would soon need an entirely new roster of guards. Riordan shook his head, his mouth a grim line of horror.

 

“We don’t really need darkspawn, do we?” Wynne felt sick at the level of brutality leveled against one defenseless girl. She put her hand over Alistair’s fist, “I need to speak to Alistair would you give us a moment?” Wynne waited for them to leave.

 

The young man watched her warily. “Alistair, there is no easy way to say this,” Wynne began. “I am so, so sorry. The blood she lost wasn’t from any of her injuries, not directly anyway. I’m sorry, Alistair, she lost the baby.”

 

“Baby? What?” Pain and new grief were naked in his gaze as he stared at her. “She was pregnant? I, I didn’t know.” He shook his head slowly, remembering the only words Jannasilane said when she was rescued. “I don’t think she did either, at least not until she wasn’t.” He explained what he meant.

 

Wynne bowed her head, “She wasn’t very far along and she’s so young, so inexperienced yet, yes, I can see that.” She looked him in the eyes, “Alistair, I can talk to her later but for now she needs rest. You are going to have to be strong for both of you. Physically there is no reason for her not to make a full recovery. I healed all her wounds. Emotionally . . . the brutality she suffered would be enough trauma for one person in a lifetime . . . losing a child as well,” her voice trailed off. For a few minutes they just sat in silence.

 

Alistair was the first to speak, “What can I do to help her? I’d like to take her away to a place where I can take care of her but that isn’t possible.” Wynne gave him some instructions and got ready to leave. Leliana was waiting for her at the Pearl. Tomorrow she would have to get some more supplies before checking in on her patients.

 

Zevran had disappeared from view but did not go downstairs as Wynne thought. Once again he was filled with pity, this time for both Pocket Goddess and the templar. Before the healer got ready to leave he went to find the Warden. _“It is a good thing elves have sharp eyes to see in the dark for Blake did not light a single candle or lamp.”_ The Warden looked up as he approached but said nothing. The elf frowned but elected to sit by his side silently, watching and waiting.

 

While Riordan escorted Wynne to the Pearl Alistair took his place by the side of the bed. Gently he began rubbing Jannasilane’s skin with lotion, “Wynne was able to heal you, my love.” He spoke quietly to let her know he was there, although he wasn’t sure if she could hear him. “Wynne says the herbs I’m using will bring you comfort as well as help your body heal. They do have a soothing scent in spite of the elfroot, don’t they? I am so sorry you had to suffer. They will never hurt you ever again. Remember where you and Riordan went in Denerim? That’s where we are now. Zevran and all three of your Wardens are here. I love you so much, Jannasilane Alenahaella. I’m a better man and a stronger one because of you,” he kissed one small hand and held it to his cheek as he prayed. _“Don’t leave me, my love. We can get through this, together. I promise. Maker, if you’re listening don’t let her suffer. I’ll gladly take her pain instead. She doesn’t deserve what those animals did to her and I don’t know if I can be the man I need to be without her.”_ He continued his soothing strokes and soft words of love and encouragement.

 

So much pain and then she found a place where she felt nothing. Surely the nothing was better than the not nothing. More pain and grief waited for her in the not nothing. She felt so cold inside, and empty. Why did she feel empty? _“No, I don’t want to know,”_ she cried out to the not nothing. Briefly she ventured into the not nothing and then scurried back into nothing again. She didn’t know how long she hid before she started to feel healing magic and she came partway out into the not nothing. The pain was less but she didn’t understand the sense of loss and grief that no healer’s touch could fix. She could sense bones and flesh knitting back together, cuts and abrasions going away. She heard a voice far away and then nothing again.

 

There was a different voice now, a familiar one calling to her, tempting her out of the nothing. She heard words the closer she came and began to see the shape of the grief waiting for her. She hesitated and then continued moving forward. That beloved voice pulled her farther from the abyss of nothing. She began to feel movement along her skin. Relief followed each stroke. She felt warm drops on her hand and wanted to offer comfort. Slowly she opened her eyes and had to blink against the brightness after the darkness. She turned her head slightly and saw Alistair, so tired and worried. Realization filled her and she ached from grief. Tears forced themselves down her cheeks and her breathing hitched.

 

He heard. He saw. “I thought I’d lost you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared,” he gently brushed his hand over her hair, and kissed her tears. “Are you in any pain, my love? Do you want anything? Let me help you,” Alistair was afraid and hopeful at the same time.

 

“You look so tired,” she croaked. Immediately he held a cup of water to her lips so she could drink. She was too exhausted to take more than a few sips. “I’m sorry, my Ali. Our baby,” she turned her head away.

 

“I know,” he whispered. “It doesn’t seem fair to mourn our loss before we knew there was something to lose, something to celebrate.” Alistair bent down and softly kissed her abdomen above her now empty womb before cupping her face and moving it back to face him. “The most important thing, my love, is that you’re alive and Wynne says you’ll make a full recovery. I will do everything I can to make you feel better. I love you so much,” it hurt to see her eyes so bruised and haunted but he was so relieved to have her back he couldn’t be anything but happy.

 

Jannasilane tried to smile, “I love you, too.” She began to shake, “I was so scared, my Ali. They, they hurt me until I welcomed the nothing. I do not wish to go back to the nothing,” Her tears were a swollen stream now.

 

“Shh, I’ve got you now and they will never hurt anybody again.” Carefully he sat on the bed and wrapped his arms around her. He had to fight the urge to tighten his embrace but didn’t want to cause her any pain. She burrowed into him and every sob; every tear was a hammer to his heart.


	61. Darkness after the Nothing

Zevran was worried. Riordan had returned from escorting Wynne hours ago and Blake was still sitting downstairs in the dark. He didn’t say anything and he moved away if anybody got too close. “Warden, I never thanked you-”

 

Blake stopped him, “Don’t. You don’t owe me anything. Judging by my history you’re probably better off without me. I don’t seem to be good for the people I care about,” his words were harsh and full of self-loathing. Zevran felt both pain and pleasure at the Warden’s words. He didn’t know what to say and so said nothing, leaving Blake to go back to brooding. He barely noticed Zevran sitting down and watching him; his mind was filled with images from the night his family died and of Package in her cell. Howe’s words echoed in the silence inside his head. He remembered that day by the river with Nate, they’d been hunting, just the two of them. Fergus was newly married and opted to spend the day with his bride.

 

_They were laughing at their lack of success and decided, since it was a sunny and unusually warm day, to bathe in the river before going home. It didn’t take either of them long to strip off their armor and dive into the clear water. Blake couldn’t help briefly admiring the sleek muscles of the other man. Sometimes he fantasized a little about the archer’s arms around him but knew it was just a fantasy. Nate was solely interested in women. However he couldn’t stop the predictable outcome of his admiration or prevent Nate from noticing._

_Nate just laughed, “I suppose I’m flattered. I would be more flattered if you were that barmaid I was trying to impress last night.”He trudged to the riverbank and lay down on a sun-warmed rock to dry. “If you ever get married like Fergus I hope you know how to use that thing on a woman,” he teased the younger Cousland._

_“I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy,” Blake retorted as he found his own rock to lie on. “You’re the same age as Fergus, how come your father hasn’t arranged a marriage for you yet?”_

_Nate shrugged, “He’s looking. But his standards aren’t the same as mine; his biggest concern is how a match will further his status. Without my cooperation he isn’t going to get very far and I want to at least be on friendly terms with my wife. My parents try to avoid being in the same room with each other. Who wants that sort of tension in their own home?”_

_Blake didn’t say anything. It was hardly a secret that Rendon Howe despised his wife. It was a miracle they had any children at all._

He started to shake his head, _“He killed my family . . . there was never a chance of Nate and I being together. I never even made a move in that direction. Why am I here? I didn’t protect Elissa and Maker knows I didn’t protect Package. . . . All that blood and I could do **nothing**. . . . Just like Elissa in the library . . . Maybe Howe was right in wanting to kill me . . . Supposed to save the world? What a laugh. I can’t even save one small woman . . . I can’t be the reason my family’s dead. . . I feel sick . . .”_ The same thoughts and images played themselves over and over in his mind, becoming increasingly devastating with each repetition.

 

Upstairs Jannasilane had finally fallen asleep and Alistair was lightly dozing. Riordan sat at the table and forced himself to eat. Every spoonful of the delicious soup tasted like paste but they had to keep their strength up. _“I am glad my old friend did not see the pain inflicted on his daughter, though I do think he would have liked to see her and Alistair together. Or would he? The affection and love both young men feel for the little one complicates their duty. Even I cannot claim to be unaffected. I must remember to ask them how much they know about killing the Archdemon; after traveling with her I am not sure that they know all they must. Now is not the moment to speak; too much has happened and even I need time before broaching something so serious. I defy any with a claim to decency to remain unmoved by what happened at Fort Drakon. We must speak soon, however. Fortunately Duncan’s daughter is strong. How strange to think he was almost a grandfather; Maker that makes me feel old.”_

 

He looked towards the bedroom when he heard a rustling. He walked to the doorway and smiled to see both occupants were awake. “You look much better, little one. Charming as you appear in a sheet and the arms of Alistair you might wish to avail yourself of the clothes we brought for you. I shall fetch you both something to eat.” He didn’t wait for a reply.

 

“Riordan’s right, you do look better. More than I expected, actually. It must be a trait you inherited, thank Andraste for that. All of a sudden I feel hungry enough to eat my own cooking,” he teased a smile out of her and felt his worry lessening.

 

“Truly a sign of starvation and we cannot have that, my Ali,” she replied and allowed him to help her into her nightshirt. It felt good to speak of something silly. She looked around for Blake but before she could ask about him she felt the siren call of the food Riordan brought. Jannasilane frowned to see nothing but broth in her bowl.

 

“Wynne’s orders, little one. She was afraid that after the trauma your body suffered anything else might not sit well. Eat this and if you want more you can have some bread to soak in it.” His mouth quirked at her frown; a frown which grew deeper when Alistair began wolfing down the contents of his bowl which definitely had more than broth.

 

She finished her broth and sat back on the bed, “Where’s Blake? Is he very injured?” She grew more worried when neither man answered her right away.

 

“He wasn’t hurt as badly as you,” Alistair was evasive. _“That’s a good question. I would have expected him to be hovering at the door at the very least.”_ He left her in Riordan’s company using the dirty dishes as an excuse and went downstairs carrying a lamp against the darkness. “Blake?” he called. Receiving no answer he put the lamp on a shelf and looked around. He found Blake sitting against the wall, staring at him or rather staring past him. Zevran was nearby keeping watch but Alistair wasn’t sure what he was watching out for. “Blake, Jannasilane is awake and asking for you. She’s worried-”

 

Blake started shaking his head, “Why? I didn’t protect her any more than I protected Elissa. My family is dead and Package nearly died because I failed.” His bitterness and self-loathing scorched the air. “I should have been smarter . . .”

 

Alistair’s eyebrows nearly reached his hair line, “What narcissistic twaddle.” The rage he’d banked burst its dam and he lashed out. “The past few months haven’t been all silk sheets and grapes but not because of you and where you put your precious manhood. You’re just not that important. I thought you were better than to let some oily, smarmy . . . twit get under your skin. Your family died because Howe was a greedy, nasty, treacherous bastard who wanted more than he had and didn’t care how he got it. Your sister and my,” he had to take a quick breath, “my Janna were brutally raped because depraved animals were allowed to do whatever they wanted. Why? I don’t know. I only know for certain we were tired, outnumbered, and captured. What I know is that right now the woman I love is worried about you and you’re going to see her if I have to carry you away from your damn pity party by your toes!”

 

Blake snarled. All the bitter emotions and rage of the past few days overwhelmed him and Alistair provided a handy target. He charged the bigger man. Every punch was a blow against Howe or those who raped his sisters. He was fighting back at all the self-doubts he’d allowed to build at Howe’s words.

 

The warrior barely had time to brace himself for the attack. Alistair retaliated, knocking his fellow Warden back a few steps. Soon they were grappling on the floor, exchanging blows and curses. Zevran nimbly danced out of the way.

 

Riordan came downstairs when he heard the noise, “This is hardly the time to-”

 

Zevran interrupted him, “Sometimes it is necessary to lance an injury to remove the poison festering inside.”

 

“Ah,” Riordan answered. He watched for a few moments, “Make sure they do not kill each other or do serious injury. The little one would be most displeased.” He went back upstairs shaking his head a little, wishing he was a young man again and could indulge in the desperate need to hit something, anything.

 

Finally Blake pushed himself away and lay back on the floor, breathing harshly. He could hear Alistair’s ragged breathing from where he was leaning against the wall. “Narcissistic twaddle?” he asked when he was sure he could speak.

 

“I’ve been waiting to use that phrase though I hoped to use it on Morrigan,” Alistair said drily. “Are you done now?”

 

Blake snorted, “Yeah, I think I’m done. Thanks. I needed that. And thanks for pulling your punches.”

 

Alistair almost grinned, “I wanted to hit you, not kill you. It felt good to hit something. Maybe we both needed it but I’m not sure Janna would understand.” He stood and offered his hand to Blake. Once Blake was on his feet the blond warrior rubbed his hands over his face before continuing, “You should know before you talk to her . . . the blood was . . . she lost our baby. Neither of us knew . . .”

 

“I’m sorry, Alistair, I don’t know what else to say,” Blake was stunned. “You would be great parents. Wynne did say she’d make a full recovery, right?”

 

“Yeah, well, her body anyway,” he sighed.

 

The Warden put his hand on Alistair’s arm and turned the warrior around to face him, “Hey, we didn’t stop my ‘pity party’ so you could start one of your own. Package is strong, probably stronger than either of us. She will get through this and I’ll help her and you any way I can. She has plenty of friends willing to help her as well.”

 

“Now that the two of you have that settled perhaps you will continue to the side of Pocket Goddess, yes? I would have enjoyed your combat more if some clothes were torn and I got to see glistening skin and rippling muscles but alas, I am doomed to disappointment once again,” Zevran sighed dramatically but secretly he was relieved that his Warden was no longer burdened by darkness. He motioned for Alistair to lead the way.

 

Blake lightly caressed the assassin’s cheek, “Thanks for staying with me, Zev. It means a lot to me.”

 

Zevran nipped the palm at his face, “Once you have satisfied Pocket Goddess as to your well-being we can speak more, my dear Warden.”

 

“Come on, you two, plenty of time for that later,” Alistair interrupted. He rolled his eyes at the cheeky grin Zevran sent in his direction. “I can’t believe I’m encouraging either of you,” he muttered. He leaned against the door jamb after Blake entered the bedroom where Jannasilane sat talking to Riordan. Judging by their expressions it was serious.

 

“Thank you for telling me, little one, I am honored by your trust,” he said quietly and bowed over her hand before kissing it. Riordan gave way to Blake after a quick examination assured him that the young Warden was well enough. “And now you see that the Warden is fit I will leave you in his company. Do not tire her overmuch, Warden, she needs her rest,” he admonished the young man.

 

Blake nodded, “I won’t be long.” He knelt down by the bed so his face was even with hers, glad to see some color and life in her face, “I’m sorry, Package. I’m so sorry about getting captured and sorry you bore the brunt of the guard’s . . . actions. Alistair told me what happened,” he winced at the pain flashing in her eyes.

 

“I think I would have liked to be a mother,” she said softly, lying back against the pillow. “And now I won’t.” She lost her newly regained color and looked wan and despondent.

 

Blake rested his head on pillow next to her. “I would have enjoyed seeing you get round with child and Alistair hovering like a nervous cat,” he tried to coax a smile out of her but the most he got was a tremulous movement of her lips. “It’ll happen, Package. Give yourself some time.” He waited but she didn’t answer. Instead she turned her head away from him and shrugged.

 

Jannasilane couldn’t imagine letting anyone touch her that way again. Blake stayed by her side for a few more minutes but she didn’t move. Finally he kissed her head, frowning at her flinch, and left her to rest. Her eyes stared at the wall but all she could see in her mind was the guards, one after another after another. She heard them jeering and swearing at her, their pants and groans in her ear. She clenched her jaw to prevent any sound escaping as the images began to overwhelm her. She thought of Alistair as she’d last seen him when they were taking her away. They hurt him because he tried to protect her. She cringed when she remembered the whip hitting his bare skin. He couldn’t see her where they made her watch as they hurt him before they forced her into that room.

 

_Cra-a-ack . . . cra-a-ack . . . cra-a-ack. They were punishing him for trying to stop them from taking her. The whip, or riding crop, cut into flesh already showing bruises from boots and gauntlets. Cra-a-ack. Alistair fought fiercely when they took her away, nearly killing one of them before they contained him. Even chained as he was the smart ones were still afraid. His persistent struggles, his anger and his strength were more than human and every single person watching knew it. Cra-a-ack._

_Jannasilane couldn’t stop herself from flinching with each cra-a-ack of the whip. The leather ties binding her wrists and ankles were starting to burn but she didn’t feel it in her distress over her Ali’s pain. Cra-a-ack. At first the guards holding her were content to force her to watch. Cra-a-ack. For one of them that was no longer enough and he began running his hands over her body. Her armor was long gone. Cra-a-ack. Some guards began clubbing him and the one holding her shoved his hand between her legs. Cra-a-ack. His fingers began pushing into her and his other hand was hard over her mouth. Cra-a-ack. Alistair was hit over the head and she was forced up against the wall. She could feel her jailor fumbling with his armor. Cra-a-ack. When the bloodied warrior finally sagged into unconsciousness her guard violently thrust into her. Cra-a-ack. Alistair was cut down and removed. Cra-a-ack. Thrust. Cra-a-ck, cra-a-ack, cra-a-ack._

 

Alistair had been sleeping fitfully on the floor beside the bed and came fully awake at her first whimper. He wanted so badly to hold her and comfort her but she’d withdrawn and stiffened warily if anybody got too close, so much so that he was afraid to touch her and hoped she’d either fall into a more peaceful sleep or come fully awake. When she started thrashing and moaning in pain he didn’t wait any longer. He gathered her into his arms and stroked her hair and arms, “Shh, my love. It’s only a bad dream. You’re safe now and they can’t hurt you anymore.” She fought him but he kept repeating himself in a soft croon and never stopped stroking her.

 

Finally he broke through her nightmare’s grip and she woke. “Ali?” Her voice was thick with tears. She snuffled and gulped, “I was dreaming ab-b-bout what hap-happened. The, the guards made me w-watch wh-while they h-hurt you. Th-th-th-then one of them b-b-began to f-force him-hims-s-self-” she started sobbing too violently to speak. Alistair looked up at the ceiling and swallowed the bile rising in his throat at her words. After she calmed down she pushed him away, “I am no good to you, Alistair. You need to find somebody wh-who is cl-clean and whole. I am neither. Th-then there is the B-Beast. I know it hurts you when the B-beast rises.”

 

The building had been built as a sanctuary for Wardens and so no sounds escaped to the outside. But the walls inside were deemed unimportant and as a result the three men camped in the only other room could hear every word. Silently Blake motioned they should move down to the ‘store’ and give the wounded woman more privacy. Not wanting any more darkness he lit the lamp before sitting with his back against the wall. “If we could I would kill those vicious bastards over and over again for what they did,” he growled.

 

“Yes, it is unfair that their suffering has ended but that of the little one will continue for some time,” Riordan added and Zevran agreed. “What is this beast she mentioned? Is this something we can take care of on her behalf?”

 

_“I too would like to know,”_ Zevran wondered to himself.

 

Blake made a decision, “Did Package ever tell you about her family’s history?” he asked cautiously. Correctly interpreting Riordan’s glance at Zevran he reassured the man, “Zevran already knows and has sworn to keep her secret, even from other Grey Wardens.” His lie served as a warning to the elf. “You didn’t have much time, why don’t you tell me what she told you and I can fill in the blanks.”

 

“I will protect Pocket Goddess and her secrets with my life, this I have vowed to her.” Zevran was very careful to make sure his expression did not contradict Blake’s words. _“The vow itself is true enough,”_ he thought.

 

Riordan proceeded cautiously, “I believed her but it is a rather wild tale. I never heard a hint of it but it does explain how a Warden of several years could father a child. In a way it is harder to believe that a breeding program on such a massive scale as this must have been could have been kept secret.”

 

“Package first told us while we were at Soldier’s Peak. We know Grey Wardens don’t share all the Chantry’s views on blood magic so it’s not surprising that they had access to a wider range of magic. I don’t know who had the idea of trying to combine the essence of the diminishing griffon population with new recruits and Package is proof they were at least partially successful. She can sense darkspawn and Wardens, and her mother was able to conceive a child with Duncan who’d been a Grey Warden for what, ten years?”

 

“About that, yes.”

 

Blake shook his head, “I can understand the appeal of a ‘natural-born’ Warden and not having to depend solely on recruiting or the Right of Conscription. But their effort had its price and those who paid it are the true innocents, like Package.” He paused to let that sink in with his listeners. He relayed to them everything Package had explained about the Time of Becoming and the dangers. “. . . in extreme cases suicide, madness or a kind of desperate whoredom result. It was hard for a chantry-trained man like Alistair to understand much less accept but she was determined to be honest with him. She’s the one who calls it a Beast.”

 

“And her Time came while we were on the road together,” Riordan remembered the change that came over her even before their encounter with the spiders. She sat just that much closer, looked at him that much longer, her touch lingered that much more. Even the sway of her hips was just a little bit more. Now he doubted she even realized it.

 

The younger Warden broke into his thoughts, “She likes you, you’re an attractive man and she wasn’t averse to her Time coming in your company. She never would have gone with you otherwise.”

 

Meanwhile Zevran had been busy putting two and two together, _“The Guardian’s words to her make sense to me now; hers is a cage from which she can never escape.”_ He looked at the Warden and very slightly nodded his head to show he understood and accepted. Then he turned to the Orlesian Warden, “I think it was good for her to be away from us for the time she was with you. However when we arrived in Denerim and found her . . . you had been missing for weeks and this Beast was tearing her apart. She was gaunt and pale, her eyes feverish. She was literally trying to hold herself together as evidenced by gouges in her arms,” he quickly demonstrated. “Minit was . . . haunted.”

 

“Alistair and I are both new to the Order. Our Wardenness, as she calls it, isn’t fully mature so when the Beast is in control . . .” Blake left the rest unsaid. His listeners were experienced, intelligent men. _“At least I haven’t completely lied to Riordan. Package did allow me to tell Zevran about her condition before we even reached Denerim. Maker, I never thought it would be like this, though.”_


	62. More Conversations in the Dark

All was silent, if you didn’t count dreams and thoughts. Some slept fitfully and others did not sleep at all. Only the servants slept well. Shale stood at her post and watched, as she always did. She wished she’d been there to crush the tiny heads of those who hurt the Wardens and the mini it. Leliana moved in and out of sleep while memories of what she saw in Fort Drakon mixed with those of her own ordeal which had surfaced and refused to go back to their place. _“I had the loss caused by betrayal but deep as that cut was it was not as deep as the loss of a child. She and Alistair would never have let that little one doubt it was loved,”_ she wondered what it would be like to be a mother.

 

Morrigan wrestled with a decision and tried to tell herself she didn’t feel such weak emotions as pity or compassion for the Wardens’ toy. Wynne’s was a healer’s sleep, light and listening for the slightest indication her services would be needed. General Lee whined. He knew something wasn’t right but didn’t understand what. Neither Teagan nor Eamon slept comfortably as concern over the Wardens and Jannasilane kept intruding. Oghren didn’t think there was enough alcohol in Thedas for him to forget the suffering coloring the depths of Cherryplum’s eyes, but he was going to try. Sten knew many elves joined the Qunari because of the bad treatment they received at the hands of humans but had felt contempt for those who persisted in feeling defeated or beaten down. He thought if they fully embraced the Qun they would no longer feel that way. Now he was glad he had never expressed that contempt. The small human’s ordeal opened his eyes.

 

Zevran held Blake in his arms as the Warden dozed. He offered what comfort his lover was willing to accept but that was little enough. Zevran was the one who thought to bring in a changing screen so that Pocket Goddess could have some privacy if she desired. In the dark he also kept watch over the hurt woman and the templar who suffered on her behalf. Blake knew Zevran was doing the best he could and was willing to offer everything he had to ease his pain but he wasn’t quite ready to accept it. Not when Package was still so damaged, so haunted. Riordan did not sleep much this far into his Wardenship for which he was grateful. The little one’s ordeal made the nightmares so much worse than usual. He found himself praying to the Maker, something he hadn’t done in years if not decades, to grant her peace and solace from her pain.

 

Alistair couldn’t sleep. Even if the cot were big enough for his frame he wouldn’t be able to sleep. All he wanted was to be in bed with his Jannasilane, holding her, offering her all the comfort he could give her but she wasn’t ready. He’d given her the choice whether he would join her in the bed and she’d hesitated. _He stood there waiting for her answer. She looked away from him and plucked at the blankets. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, “Janna,” he waited for her to look at him. When she didn’t he put his finger on her chin and gently turned her to face him. “If you’re not ready you’re not ready. I can accept that. But I want you to remember something, I love you. I want to be at your side until the day I die and nothing, nobody will ever change that.” He stood up and moved the cot so it was right next to the bed. “I will only be an arm’s length away if you need me. I’m going to kiss you goodnight, now.” He moved slowly, giving her plenty of time to move away if she wanted. He felt her relax when he kissed her forehead and was relieved she didn’t stiffen or cringe when he gently kissed her trembling lips. Alistair could feel her eyes watching him climb into the cot. He closed his eyes and hoped he was doing the right thing. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt her small hand barely caress the side of his face before retreating._

 

In her room Anora was also restless. She kept replaying the private conversation with the girl traveling with the Wardens; one where she’d attempted to convey her sympathies over what had been done. The girl’s answer was not what she expected. _“For what are you apologizing, Your Majesty? Are you sorry that I was taken with the Wardens or that the Wardens were taken at all? Are you sorry you weren’t successful in your efforts to get rid of the Wardens? Are you sorry Ser Cauthrien was waiting for us when we were leaving? Are you sorry you betrayed us? Are you sorry that my Wardens were hurt on **your** behalf? Or are you just sorry that I was raped by one guard after another, that as a result of their brutality I lost the babe I carried?” Anora didn’t know if the younger woman even realized that tears were streaming down her face. She knew she would forever remember the stark pain emanating from her. Jannasilane didn’t wait long for an answer, “When you are ready with the truth you may speak to me again.” _

 

Anora sighed in the dark, _“It seemed a logical move at the time. Alistair would be in Fort Drakon and not a threat, Father would no longer be regent, possibly exiled to Gwaren, and Howe dealt with as he deserved. I would have arranged for Blake’s release after the Landsmeet was over and my position as queen secured. Mother once told me that inheriting my father’s intelligence was a blessing but she hoped I was careful in how I used it. I didn’t know what she meant then but I think I am starting to understand.”_

 

She was so tired. Her emotions were running all over the place. She was glad her Wardens were safe; happy to hear their breathing. She was grateful Wynne made sure they weren’t separated. She wanted to be alone so she could hide. She wanted Alistair’s arms around her but couldn’t bear the thought of his touch. Finally sleep claimed her but rest did not. A nightmare held her in an iron grip and tormented her. The rapes jumbled in her mind, coming so fast Jannasilane couldn’t keep track of when one ended and another started. When she felt the blood gushing from between her legs she screamed and screamed and screamed.

 

Alistair heard her thrashing and tried to determine if it was restlessness or something worse. When she screamed he moved, “Shh, love, it’s a dream, a nightmare, shh.” She didn’t hear him and lashed out with fists, feet, teeth and nails. Before he could restrain her she broke his nose again, “Get Wynne and Leliana,” he ordered Blake and Zevran. His voice was still gentle but firmer as he tried to get through to her, “Come back to me, my love, don’t let the bastards win. Shh, I have you now.” He repeated the words over and over until she finally calmed down, crying in his arms.

 

The two rogues didn’t have far to go. When Blake stepped into the hall the entire household was either outside the door or coming up the stairs. All of them displayed varying degrees of concern, even Morrigan. Wynne and Leliana slipped inside at Blake’s direction while he calmed everyone down. Some lingered and offered their assistance. Finally they returned to their rooms. With a sigh Blake settled into the alcove on the stairs to wait. He rubbed his temples, “Zev, would you go see how she’s doing? Since you’re an elf you might seem less threatening to her at the moment.”

 

“Your wish is my command, my dear Warden. Though it is an odd thing for an assassin to be deemed non-threatening,” he lightly touched Blake on the shoulder before silently leaving.

 

Blake leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. His blood was still racing from fear engendered by her screams, _“I suppose it would have been the same for Elissa if she lived.”_ He didn’t even turn his head when he heard the rustle of silk sitting down next to him. “Is there something you wanted, Your Majesty?” At that moment he didn’t give a damn if she was insulted or not.

 

“I, maybe it’s not the best time but since we are alone I want to first offer you my condolences on the loss of your family. Your mother in particular was dear to me. I know her acceptance and kindness made things easier for me years ago,” she added. Anora shifted uncomfortably, “I also apologize for any of my actions which resulted in your capture. I never wanted you or your companion harmed.”

 

_“Well this is interesting,”_ Blake opened his eyes and looked at the queen next to him, unsure how he would react. “Are you also sorry Alistair was captured?” he pushed.

 

“I’m not sure. I am trying to be honest with you, Warden. I spoke with your friend earlier and she asked me many questions about my intent before dismissing me.”

 

Blake laughed for the first time since rescuing the queen, “Package is a most unusual woman and one of the bravest, strongest people I know.” He studied Anora. She seemed to be deep in thought and not averse to listening. He decided to take a chance, “My father always admired your father’s intelligence and appreciated his devotion to freeing Ferelden from Orlesian control. But he also considered Loghain’s ability to detach himself as both an asset and a danger.”

 

Anora looked at him, “Go on.”

 

“In war a certain detachment makes it easier to weigh the benefits against the risks of various maneuvers,” he added. “It’s acceptable in part because those troops signed up knowing they were risking their lives.” He watched to see if Anora understood what he was saying. “My father taught us that when governing sometimes the most logical or most efficient answer to a problem isn’t always the best one in the long term. That you should never, ever forget that your decisions will affect people’s lives and not just soldiers. When he made the hard decisions our people at least felt they weren’t ignored. Many of the bodies,” he had to stop speaking for a minute, “many of the bodies I passed in Castle Cousland weren’t those of servants running away but of servants who fought back with anything at hand, even a frying pan. Sometimes I wonder if Duncan and I were able to escape because of all those little delays.”

 

Anora nodded thoughtfully, “I am glad you escaped. I appreciate your candor but now I shall return to my room. Good night, Warden, I hope your friend recovers soon,” she stood gracefully and left quickly.

 

Blake wondered if she understood that he was referring to her and not just her father. _“She’s a very intelligent woman; I doubt she missed what I was saying. Is she willing to change? Maker, I’m tired.”_ He decided it was time for him to return to his room and try to get some much needed rest.

 

“She’ll be fine, Warden. Leliana’s stories helped calm her down. Nightmares are to be expected and the only harm done was to Alistair’s nose, which I fixed. At Jannasilane’s request I enchanted the changing screen as I did the canvas wall of your tent. Just move it next to her bed when she is resting. I will see you in the morning,” she smiled tiredly and left. Leliana was already gone.

 

Blake found Zevran lounging on the bed next to Alistair and trying to reassure Package, “My most delightful Pocket Goddess, in time nobody will remember your dulcet tones sounding in the night.” Her only answer was to burrow even farther into Alistair’s arms and under the covers until all Blake could see was the tip of a very red nose. He looked at Alistair who was looking at Zevran as if the elf was a few brains short of a nug.

 

Blake lay behind him and pulled Zevran against him, needing the contact, “Dulcet tones?” he mouthed softly against Zevran’s ear. Zevran shrugged. The Warden shook his head and tried to reassure her, “Package, your friends are concerned about you. You shouldn’t be embarrassed. There isn’t one of us who wouldn’t like to make those animals suffer more than they did. I’m so sorry you had a nightmare but we are here for you.”

 

Jannasilane was silent except for a few sniffles. Finally she poked her head from under the covers and spoke so silently even Alistair barely heard her, “Will the nightmares ever stop?” The room went completely silent.


	63. Days of Darkness Past

Soft as it was Jannasilane’s question echoed in the silence. She might as well as asked if she would ever be whole, that was her real meaning and each of them knew it. The men looked at each other but didn’t speak. Blake didn’t know and Zevran didn’t want to tell her what he suspected. Finally Alistair broke the silence, “Mine never did.” Later Zevran would have sworn he could hear the stars blinking in the night sky.

 

Jannasilane shifted in his arms so she was facing him. She frowned a little as she searched his face for any clues but he avoided looking directly at her. Instead he concentrated his attention on the lock of her hair he was holding and fingering. She placed her hands on each side of his face and stroked his cheekbones with her thumbs until he glanced at her, “You do not mean the Archdemon or Duncan . . .” Her voice trailed off and she left the implied question hanging in the air.

 

He didn’t answer her right away. He let himself marvel at her hair, the way it seemed to wrap itself around his finger, “I love your hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen hair so alive as yours. There’s something a bit wild and untamed about it; as if it holds hints to all the mysteries of the universe.” He sighed and looked so sad and hurt as he stared into the distant past that Jannasilane wanted to just hug him and tell him he needn’t say another word. Before she could he took a deep breath and looked her in the eye, “No, it happened years ago. I don’t have them often but sometimes . . . One nice thing about being a Grey Warden is that you’re expected to have nightmares so nobody asks you about them.”

 

Blake motioned to Zevran and the two of them carefully slid to the side of the bed but Alistair stopped them. “You might as well stay, I’m sure you’ve guessed enough anyway. Just, just don’t interrupt or I might never get it out. I told you the grand cleric didn’t want to let me go and that Duncan had to conscript me. She didn’t like that at all. You see, now she couldn’t punish me anymore for killing one of her favorite young templars.”

 

_“Well that certainly surprised them, even Zevran is gawping,”_ he thought with dark amusement. He let that knowledge sink in before continuing, “I didn’t fit in with the other boys at the Chantry. The boys from noble families looked down on me and the others thought I put on airs. So I was a loner among my peers and I seem to have this knack for asking odd questions or saying the wrong thing to those in charge.”

 

Blake remembered when he first met Alistair. He was trying not to argue with some mage but ended up saying he would name one of his children after him, ‘the grumpy one.’ He smiled just a little and Alistair caught it.

 

“Yes, yes, my amazing ability to clean dishes is a direct result of my unfortunate words. I liked it, nobody else wanted to do it and there was absolutely no excuse for anyone else to be there so I wasn’t bothered. I was used to not getting along with other children so scrubbing pots and pans was comforting in a way, I could let my mind wander and not get in trouble. And I’m digressing,” he huffed a bit. It was even harder than he imagined to be talking about this.

 

Jannasilane kissed his cheek and laid her head on his shoulder. She slowly stroked his hair. He tightened his arms around her, relieved when after only a brief hesitation she snuggled closer against him. He nuzzled her hair a moment before continuing, “I guess I was an easy target. There was certainly nothing special about me, just another grubby urchin with a tendency to get into trouble. One night I was sneaking out of my room, I guess I was too used to sleeping in the stables. Sharing a room with all those other boys . . . I wanted to breathe and I knew just where I wanted to go. Overlooking the training arena for the templars was a hill. It was mostly woods but there was a small glade where I could watch without anybody seeing me. I used to pretend I was the one being trained to fight, that one day I would be somebody who couldn’t be pushed around. It wasn’t a secret place, exactly, just one not used much. It saw a lot of use that night.

 

_“Well, well, somebody is out where they’re not supposed to be,” the speaker was a few years older than Alistair. Lucas was good looking with an innocent face, until you looked at his eyes. Those baby blues hadn’t been innocent since he was in swaddling clothes. Alistair instinctively avoided him as much as possible, him and his friends. Now he had no choice._

_He jutted his chin out, “There’s no rule against being here.” He watched the others carefully, fists clenched at his side._

_Lucas’s mouth moved into a tight little smile, “Not during the day. You younger boys are supposed to be snug in your bed not up to who knows what out of your room.” They began circling him. Alistair tried to keep his eyes on the leader, he was the most dangerous. “I’ve been watching you, Al-i-stair. You don’t seem to have any friends here, Al-i-stair. We could be your friends, Al-i-stair. Would you like that, Al-i-stair?”_

_The taunting continued until Alistair yelled at him, “Go away. I don’t want to be your friend.”_

_Lucas stopped. This was what he’d been waiting for. “Now my feelings are hurt. You have a fresh mouth, Al-i-stair. I think it’s time you learned what happened to young boys with fresh mouths,” he bared his teeth in an imitation of a smile. Soon Alistair was naked and shivering in the night air. Two of the trainees were holding him by the arms and he was still defiant. He was also beginning to feel a real fear but didn’t know of what. Lucas wasn’t very tall but he seemed like a giant to the boy he was tormenting. “Such a nice form you have, Al-i-stair,” he said as he explored the young body held for him. He squeezed firm young buttocks and Alistair squeaked, his mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. Lucas swooped in and forced his tongue inside, plundering the virgin territory. He pulled Alistair’s body against him, squeezing and kneading his rear and letting the young boy feel his erection through his trousers._

_Alistair was panicking. This wasn’t right! He’d seen men courting women in Redcliffe and sometimes they kissed. At the time he found it disgusting but this was so much worse. He began to struggle harder, tears streaming down his cheeks and when Lucas moved away he yelled at him, “Leave me alone! I’m not a g-g-girl!”_

_The others snickered. “That’s where you’re wrong, Al-i-stair. Tonight you’re not just a girl but **our** girl, our **bitch**. And we’re going to show you the only thing a bitch is good for,” Lucas signaled and Alistair was forced to the ground, on his hands and knees. When he felt his rear being spread apart his eyes nearly popped out of his head. One of them covered his mouth, stifling his scream when Lucas rammed into him with all the force of which he was capable. “I like spirit, bitch, keep on fighting me. It just makes my pleasure that much greater.”_

_He couldn’t have stopped fighting if he wanted. The burning pain was agony and all he wanted was to get away. He didn’t even hear himself crying, “No, no no, nononono, no-o-o-o.” Feeling Lucas’ seed spurting inside him was almost a balm to his torn flesh. When Lucas pulled out the others let go and he fell to the ground, whimpering._

_The casual slap on his backside was an added insult, “Stop sniveling, Al-i-stair. You don’t make such a bad bitch but your lesson isn’t over yet. Everyone here gets a turn, one way or another. You need to learn your place here. On your knees, bitch.” Alistair tried to scramble away but he didn’t get very far. He fell down and started to push himself up for flight but froze when Lucas laughed, “Isn’t he an eager one, waving his bum in the air for the next taker. Did you like it, Al-i-stair? You protested but maybe you protested too much. Which way do you want it this time?” They all laughed at the confusion on his face. Lucas licked the tears from his face, “Yes, you have so very much to learn.” This time it was Lucas holding him for the benefit of the others. Some used his mouth, others followed Lucas’ example, and some worked in tandem. Once everybody had a turn Lucas put a stop to it. “That’s enough, we may want to arrange another rendezvous, he was just so sweet,” he pet Alistair like a dog before standing and looking down at him. “Not a word, Al-i-stair, we’re not the only ones who might enjoy a little bitch like you at their disposal.” As one Lucas and his friends turned away and left him alone in the night._

_Alistair gulped for air, “I’ll kill them all,” he said to nobody. He got as far as his hands and knees before he started retching. He felt sick to his very soul._

 

“Somehow I got dressed and made it back to the bedroom I shared with the other boys. I stopped by the stables on the way and cleaned up as best as I could. When I woke the next morning I thought at first it was a bad dream. Or maybe I just wanted to believe it, I did have bruises that weren’t there when I went to sleep and I was sore where I shouldn’t have been. If I had any doubts Lucas soon cleared them up with comments I shouldn’t have understood. He was careful enough not to say anything when somebody other than his cohorts was with him. He even pinched me sometimes and asked if I was ready to be his bitch again. This went on for two days before I gathered up my courage to tell somebody. I decided to go to the senior templar in charge of training and approached him at the end of the day when he was alone.

 

_“Ser, may I speak to you for a moment,” Alistair asked as respectfully as he knew how. The taciturn knight turned around and regarded him with one eyebrow raised._

_“Alright boy, but make it quick.” The templar’s face darkened when Alistair told him what happened and at first Alistair took heart. He was quickly disillusioned, “You snuck out in the middle of the night and now you come to me with some wild tale to cover up your bad behavior. I was going to let it go, Lucas told me he didn’t think you’d do it again. But apparently you didn’t learn your lesson.” He dragged Alistair behind him and grabbed a wooden paddle. Alistair tried not to cry but eventually lost that battle. His howls of pain were ignored; more than one boy had been disciplined by the trainer so no one thought anything of it. Once Alistair was crying uncontrollably, his rear burning and bruised from the paddle the templar stopped. “Tomorrow you are confined to quarters. Let that be a listen. I will not tolerate liars. Now get out of here.” He roughly pushed Alistair towards the door. The coarse fabric of his trousers was harsh against his skin, causing more pain when he moved._

_He thought the worst of his ordeal over until Lucas and friends appeared. “We have been watching you, Al-i-stair. You have been a very bad boy, telling lies about me. You must be punished, Al-i-stair and it must be a lesson you will not forget. Our trainer,” he sneered contemptuously when he referred to the templar, “thinks very highly of me and told me of your attempts to discredit me. Bad, bad boy.” They dragged him to the then empty infirmary. His struggles amused Lucas. One of them put a gag in his mouth since they didn’t want his screams to attract unnecessary attention. Once again he was stripped naked at Lucas’ direction, “Such a shame to see bruises and welts on your pretty rear but you deserve it,” he took aim and slapped his hand on top of the deepest welt. “It is not enough.”_

 

Alistair sighed and pushed his hair back as if he were pushing back the memories. “It was a long night; I won’t bore you with the details. Needless to say I didn’t complain again. I don’t think I would have survived another night like that. I was cleaned up and forced to drink health potions before two of them carried me back to my bed. I still don’t like the smell of elfroot. The other boys knew I’d been in trouble and they avoided me as if I had the plague. Since I didn’t want to see them either I didn’t care, I just wanted to be miserable in peace. For once I was grateful we only had cold water for bathing.

 

Lucas left me alone except for comments I pretended not to understand and I tried to be around other boys who I thought were vulnerable as I had been. I knew my interference was making him angry but I just couldn’t let anybody else be hurt if I could help it. Sometimes one or two would catch me in spite of my efforts . . . I got good at learning just how much trouble I could get in which would make me unavailable instead of more vulnerable. There were fewer incidents the older I got, partly because they were transferred after their training completed and partly because I was too big to be easily subdued. I studied hard and I trained even harder. Apparently there was no doubt about me becoming a templar. I’ll always be grateful to Duncan.”

 

“Did Duncan know?” Blake was curious. It was the safest thing he could think of to ask. It hurt to think of his friend as a defenseless boy, that while he’d been catching worms to put in Elissa’s bed Alistair was being abused.

 

“No,” Alistair shook his head. “All those years nobody ever guessed. I got so good at pretending innocence sometimes I even convinced myself that it had never happened. That I really was some clumsy, inexperienced virgin instead of . . . anyway I prefer jokes about my inexperience to ones about . . . you know.”

 

Jannasilane sat up straight and poked Alistair in the shoulder, “I hope somebody cut off their putrid male roots and shoved them down their throats.”

 

While Blake and Zevran were choking on her words Alistair smiled at her. He put her face in his hands and brought her close, “I really find this vicious streak of yours incredibly sexy.” When he kissed her she kissed him back with everything she had.

 

“While I appreciate and agree with the sentiments of Pocket Goddess,” Zevran pretended to shiver, “I hope she never feels the need for such occurrences to happen to any of us. I would also like to know if they still live. If so I willingly offer my services to change such an unfortunate situation.”

 

“Lucas was good at charming those in charge,” he told the assassin. “He used his charm to secure a position with the grand cleric, as part of her retinue. The old, er, she was blind to his true character. He flattered her, you see. I kept an eye on him as much as I could but was almost too late. He was attacking a young boy, an orphan turned over to the Chantry. He wanted to . . . use him as he had me. I’d stopped him before but this time he simply snapped. He charged me, but I was bigger and stronger now which seemed to infuriate him. When he picked up a weapon I defended myself. The grand cleric was furious. You probably met her at Ostagar,” he turned to Blake. “I don’t know what she would have done if the boy hadn’t confirmed my story. The knight-captain also backed me up. He said he’d heard rumors but been unable to get hard evidence.” Alistair shook his head, “Funny, he was the one who called me a liar all those years ago. I believe he warned the commanders where the others were stationed.”

 

“Now I understand the look you gave me when I said you I found you more attractive than either Morrigan or Package here. It was on the way to Lothering,” Blake added for Zevran’s benefit. “I’m glad you decided not to attack me.”

 

Alistair actually blushed, “Well, um, I learned that some men willingly preferred men. I accidentally saw two of the younger templars together and at first I thought one was being forced. And then he smiled at the other man, which really confused me. I never felt like smiling. And later they were joking around and teasing each other. This . . . arrangement,” he waved his hand indicating the four of them, “is unusual even by Grey Warden standards which are pretty unconventional. I mean, I know some of the male soldiers connected with each other but not as obviously as some of the Wardens. What I mean to say is I learned that’s what some people prefer and I’m okay with that. I don’t have to understand it. As long as nobody is being forced to do something they don’t want then it’s none of my business.”

 

Zevran stared at him for so long that Alistair began to fidget, “You, oh stalwart warrior, are one of the most remarkable and noble men I have ever met. I am honored to be your friend.”

 

“Cut it out, Zev,” Alistair protested uncomfortably, “I’m the same person I was yesterday but, uh, thanks for the compliment.”

 

“You Fereldans,” Zevran shook his head in mock disapproval.

 

Blake lightly bit his lover’s ear, “You could tell me how wonderful _I_ am,” he teased, relieved to see the darkness leaving his friend, “instead of embarrassing our noble templar. You know you are challenging his low self-esteem.” Alistair rolled his eyes when the elf chuckled.

 

“Zevran is quite correct, you are the most remarkable of men, my Ali,” Jannasilane said tearfully. “I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.”

 

“You did that the day I met you,” Alistair responded, wiping her tears away. “What happened to me was a long time ago. Horrible as it was I survived, just as you will. You’re stronger than anybody I know, stronger than I’ve ever been. The only thing I ask is that you don’t shut me out, that you let me help you, love you.”

 

“I think I can manage that,” she snuggled against him. “I am glad none of them were as big as you, this is truth.” She smiled against him when he started sputtering. Finally she began to feel some hope for the future.


	64. Poor Gratitude to the Night Elves

“There is some sort of unrest in the Alienage which seems odd since almost none of them have been involved in the war and certainly don’t share the same losses from Ostagar. I’m afraid my father and Howe may be the cause.”

 

“It must indeed be something most egregious if the elves turned against Loghain,” Eamon frowned. “In the war against Orlais it was Loghain who gave them a status and respect nobody else had.”

 

Alistair lifted one eyebrow in query, “You mean the Night Elves? I heard about them, an archery division composed solely of elves due to the sharpness of their night vision. Huh, they should be friendly towards him.”

 

“Howe probably made it even worse, he never liked elven servants. If they were in his way he would probably just run over them without blinking unless his horse stumbled,” Blake added. “If it looks like we’ll be gone more than one night I’ll send word.”

 

“I will leave you to your preparations then,” Anora nodded regally. “Warden,” she added, “I would appreciate your coming to speak to me soon.” She left the room, confident Blake would soon join her. She was surprised to see Erlina arguing with the Wardens’ friend, Jannasilane. “It’s alright, Erlina. You can leave us, if she were going to attack me she would have done it before now,” she added drily and was amused to see the small woman flush.

 

When the door closed Jannasilane lifted her chin, “I lost my temper before and I apologize, your Majesty.” Her posture belied the humble words.

 

Anora regarded the young woman, girl rather, thoughtfully before waving away her words, “Under the circumstances you were more restrained than another might have been. I appreciate your loyalty to your friends and whatever else you choose to believe I truly regret that any of you, especially you, were harmed.”

 

Jannasilane relaxed, “There is something I think you should know.” The two of them spoke for some time, long enough for Blake to be kept waiting in the hallway with Erlina.

 

“What were you doing in there?” he asked when Package came out.

 

“Girl talk,” she said airily. Anora smiled to herself when she heard that, never in her life had she indulged in ‘girl talk.’ “I will wait out front in the sunshine,” and Package walked away.

 

While Blake was speaking to Anora Alistair took the opportunity to have a quick word with Leliana. The pretty redhead was surprised at his request, “You can trust me, Alistair. If it is possible it will be done.”

 

Teagan was outside arguing with Jannasilane when Blake, Alistair, Wynne, Zevran and General Lee left the estate. The Bann was exasperated and worried, “My dear Jannasilane, you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. You should stay and rest. I hate the thought of you being hurt again, especially so soon.” He was holding her hands between his as if that were enough to keep her from leaving.

 

She shook her head, “You are a good friend but I could not live with myself if I stayed behind when my Wardens need me. I am shorter than the elves as Blake was quick to point out,” she scowled a little at the reminder, “and therefore am less of a threat. Or at least will appear to be so. I hate to say that he is right but truth is truth. Wynne is an excellent healer and she would not allow me to go if I were not ready. I will not insult you by telling you not to worry but I promise to be careful.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a friendly hug.

 

He gave up, “See that you do, my lady. I’m quite fond of you and would not care to lose you.” His blues eyes were clouded with worry in spite of his smile. Teagan watched them go and decided he could drink with the dwarf, entertain Her Majesty, or train with his men and the Qunari.

 

“Are you sure you wish to come, my love?” like Teagan Alistair was concerned it might be too soon. He brushed his hand over her hair as much to reassure himself as indulge his ever-present desire to simply touch her. “No one is forcing you to go or will think less of you if you stay behind.”

 

For answer she brought him to his knees and then grabbed hold of the sides of his head. She brought her lips to his in a kiss that seared his brain to mush and he could only blink like a stunned owl when she walked away. “I am fine, my Ali. I feel ready to burst out of my skin I am so itchy. This is truth.”

 

“I-itchy?” Alistair was mortified when his voice squeaked on the word. Blushing furiously he got to his feet and didn’t say another word. Blake and Zevran grinned at each other in relief and even Wynne permitted herself a small smile. General Lee barked happily and nearly knocked Jannasilane to the ground more than once before he settled.

 

“Wynne, we’ve heard rumors of a plague. If that’s the case do you need anything?” Blake asked after several minutes. “I’m almost hoping that’s the problem.”

 

“If true there is only so much that can be done and that only if the elves will cooperate. Their distrust of humans may be the biggest obstacle,” she noted.

 

“Which is one reason I am here, dear lady,” Zevran bowed handsomely before her. “I am to be an ambassador of good will if these elves do not recognize the worthiness of you humans.” Jannasilane snickered and Alistair rolled his eyes. He muttered something which was ignored.

 

They no longer were barred from entering and crossed the bridge, stopping a moment on the other side to get their bearings. “I've never been in an alienage. Life must be... hard here,” Wynne was dismayed by the conditions but tried not to show it.

 

“Alienages are very much the same everywhere, you are correct that it is not a kind existence,” Zevran answered her soberly for once. “Let me knock on some doors, a human may not receive an answer for it is almost always bad when a human makes an appearance here.” On the third try a door opened and after a brief conversation he motioned for the others to join him inside. Their host was none other than the elf they rescued from Howe’s dungeon. “You remember Soris? He is willing to tell us what he knows.” It turned out he couldn’t tell them much but suggested they talk to his cousin Shianni.

 

Shianni was dubious at first and scathing in her comments until she recognized the Wardens from Soris’ description. “Something isn’t right. I don’t believe in this quarantine of theirs. They appear to be taking healthy elves, such as Hahren Valendrian.  If their magic really prevents the plague then there should be no reason one of us can’t go in to see him or any of the others. Elves go in but never come out.”

 

Wynne shook her head, “I have been a healer for many years and have never even heard rumors of such magic as you are describing.”

 

“Perhaps a little subterfuge is in order. Are you willing to play along, Pocket Goddess?” Zevran’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. Blake and Alistair looked at each other then at the Antivan but before either could say anything he spoke up, “Remember, you wanted her here because she looks non-threatening.” He dismissed them and his own qualms, “To this end you should remove your chestpiece and gauntlets. We shall be workers from one of the brothels and our mistress wishes to protect her most popular worker, my most handsome self. You can hide your daggers in your belt-”

 

  “Jannasilane could never pass as a, er, a prostitute,” Alistair protested as Jannasilane’s shoulders and more of her breasts were revealed.

 

“She will after a couple more adjustments,” Zevran promised. “There are two sorts of humans who might come openly into the Alienage, three if you count stupid: nobles who know the elves will not dare act against them no matter what they do and those on the lower end of human society. We do not wish to be seen as criminals so . . .” He ignored her blushing while he loosened the laces at the top of her tunic in order to expose more of her magnificent bosom. Alistair gulped and would have said something but the Antivan’s next words dried up his protest, “Kiss her, Alistair. Kiss her hard and long and tangle your hands in her hair; that should be the final touch.”

 

The warrior sighed in mock resignation, “The things I do for the cause.” He ignored her hitting him and brought his face to hers. Alistair wrapped her hair around his fist and held her still so he could plunder her mouth with lips and tongue. He nipped her lower lip and after a moment she eagerly responded, refusing to allow any memories to take hold. When he finally let her go her face was flushed, her lips swollen and her eyes had a distinctly sensual glow.

 

Zevran smiled. “Now we go forth, allow me to lean on you my beautiful Pocket Goddess,” he placed his arm across her shoulders and she wrapped one around his waist. “Just follow my lead, bellissima.” As they neared the mages from Tevinter he began to argue, “It is silly to bring me here. There is nothing wrong with me and I don’t even live here.” He moved his fingers across her skin just enough to draw the attention of the guards to her beautiful golden flesh.

 

She shook her head violently, “But some of the others do or come here often. Our boss wants you protected. You, you are healers are you not? My friend needs to be protected from the plague. He is one of our most popular workers.” She tapped her foot to hide her agitation upon sensing they were not healers at all. The mages hesitated and she started to yell at them, “I will not have his _blood_ on my hands because you do not wish to use your _magic_ on him. You must **do** something!”

 

“Calm down, young woman, if you sense any hesitation it is only surprise to see a woman such as yourself here. We haven’t had any of your fellow _workers_ come calling,” the mage Veras quickly appraised the two before him. The elf was easily acceptable but the girl with him was another story. _“Then again, she’s unusual enough to raise interest. If she gives any trouble we’ll take her too and figure out what to do with her later.”_ He smiled grimly, decision made, “I’m afraid your friend here already has the plague and will have to be quarantined.”

 

Jannasilane couldn’t help paling at the words even though she knew they were false, “I’ll go in with you and make sure you’re settled. Mistress will switch my bottom otherwise,” as if remembering previous occasions she ‘unconsciously’ rubbed the top of her rear. Zevran noticed a couple of the guards shifting and hoped she wasn’t overplaying her role. He had to admire her courage in doing so after her recent ordeal.

 

Veras nodded, “You will have to. You must be quarantined as well.” He signaled to the guards, “Please escort these two inside.” Jannasilane held onto Zevran that much harder and hid her face against his shoulder as they were led into the building. She wasn’t sure she could manage to look convincing so did the next best thing.

 

From their position they could hear and see everything. “Blood mages,” Alistair exclaimed, “I wonder what they’re up to.” He was worried, he also noticed the guards shifting in place when she rubbed her bottom and knew they were shifting for the same reason he was.

 

“We’ll give them a few minutes inside and then attack,” Blake whispered. “Alistair, you start with a smite and Wynne you make sure you’re ready with the Litany of Adralla. If I know Zevran and our Package they’ll be giving any guards inside enough trouble.” He signaled General Lee to go around the back and take care of any guards in the alley.

 

Inside Zevran and Jannasilane looked around. They saw a few more guards, no beds and no healers or nurses; it was confirmation that the Tevinters were up to something and it had nothing to do with healing. Zevran had his own suspicions based on past experience. One man who appeared to be in charge was sitting behind a desk, “Bring them over here and let me look at ‘em.” He moved out from behind his desk and stood there with his arms crossed, a frown on his face. He pointed at Zevran with his chin, “You, over there.” He looked Jannasilane up and down, “You’re no elf. What am I supposed to do with you? Hold her,” he commanded two guards to grab her arms. “The hair is nice, very nice and you seem to be young and reasonably fresh . . . now open your mouth.” He didn’t wait and pried her mouth open, chuckling when she bit his finger, “You got some spirit, good, don’t make us beat it all out of you or it’ll drive down the price. You have good teeth, a positive sign.” He looked her up and down, mentally stripping her. She started to struggle and he calmly cuffed the side of her head, “Cease your efforts girl.” His inspection was thorough but completely dispassionate. Once he was done he casually backhanded her across the face, “I told you, not too much spirit. Put her with her friend.”

 

Zevran hated playing the part of a cowed elf but knew he must continue the role until it was time to strike. He lowered his lashes to hide the gleam in them when the leader of these guards started to touch Pocket Goddess. It was hard to watch her being treated thus but knew he had to wait. He promised himself the man would die quite soon. _“I suppose I should be thankful that these are proper businessmen,”_ he grit his teeth.He anticipated the Wardens would attack any minute and provide a diversion. If not they would take care of these slavers on their own. His arms automatically went around her when she was shoved into him, “You were very brave, Minit, are you okay?” She nodded her head and Zevran breathed a sigh of relief. “Watch for my signal.”

 

“Quiet!” the nearest guard barked. Jannasilane took a small step away from Zevran in order to give them room to maneuver.

 

When they heard the faint sounds of a disturbance outside Zevran silently thanked Blake for teaching him some ranger skills in exchange for learning the assassin’s art. Before he finished his summoning he winked at Pocket Goddess and she immediately went into action, retrieving her dagger and attacking the nearest guard. Others drew near and she let out her battle song with all the fervor of which she was capable. Quickly they dispatched as many of the stunned guards as they could, leaving less than a handful to regain their wits and fight back.

 

While Wynne remained outside to tend to any elves wounded in the skirmish the Wardens entered the false hospice and relaxed to see no danger. Zevran was busily looting the bodies and any chests he could find, looking for information. Jannasilane was sitting on top of the desk frowning at a piece of paper in her hand. Relief was followed so hard by a burning ball of lust that Alistair stumbled on his way to her side. “I wish we had a desk at camp,” he muttered when he stood in front of her. She looked up and was mesmerized by the heat in his gaze.

 

She licked her lips and blinked when he groaned. “Th-they were slavers,’ she said when she could speak. She waved the piece of paper in front of him and he grabbed it.

 

He set his jaw and spoke through clenched teeth, “Ferelden does not tolerate slavery. This note doesn’t prove his involvement but if Loghain approved this then he has betrayed the very core of what Ferelden stands for.”

 

“Perhaps he does not see elves as citizens, or sees them as lesser creatures,” Zevran remarked without bothering to hide his bitterness.

 

“Then he has no business calling himself a Fereldan!” Alistair shot back. “When we talk about the people of Ferelden that is not supposed to be a club for humans only. Every citizen, be they human, elf or dwarf has the same rights as any other citizen. If they aren’t treated that way it is the fault of those in power and who should do better.”

 

Zevran slowly clapped his hands, “That is admirable, my lovely templar, but hardly realistic. Look around you, elves do not have the same rights as you humans.”

 

Alistair narrowed his eyes at the Antivan, “Are you trying to make me angry, Zev? Technically they do have the same rights but I’m well aware prejudice ignores that. I don’t know who’s at fault for the condition of the Alienage, any alienage. I don’t believe changing the status quo is going to be easy but a leader isn’t supposed to settle for what’s easy.” He glared at Zevran, daring him to say something.

 

“You’re both right,” Blake interrupted them. He cocked his head at his lover, “And you know Alistair better than that.” Unspoken was the ‘and me.’

 

“I do,” Zevran admitted. “I suppose this whole operation has touched a nerve, but it was good to hear the words out loud nevertheless.” That was as much of an apology as he would offer.

 

Once Jannasilane was fully armored they went outside and found Shianni talking with Wynne. As soon as she saw the Wardens she accosted them, “Well? What did you find? Some elves ran out but I didn’t recognize any of them. They’ve taken a lot more than that into their _quarantine_. Where are the others?” She stepped back in alarm when they told her their suspicions. “None have come out this way; they must have gone through the old apartments behind the alley. You can get to the docks from there if you know how.”

 

Before they left Wynne gave some instructions to the outspoken elf, “Once we have gotten to the bottom of this disgraceful event I will return and help you. You may not have enough of those supplies immediately on hand for our needs so please take this coin. I can do more for you faster when I return if all is ready. I shall see you soon, my dear.”

 

Traversing the labyrinthian hallways of the decrepit apartments they found many sites where it was obvious somebody was taken away and wondered if they would even find any of the elves still in Ferelden. Zevran was the only one not shocked to discover that the leader of the mercenaries herding the captives was an elf herself. Finally they reached the end of the trail: a large warehouse guarded by several men at arms and mages of every description. The man in charge of the entire operation was a blood mage surrounded by guards. Behind him were several elves in cages. He tried to bargain with them. When they refused he fought; he and his men did not go down easy.

 

“What a despicable man,” Wynne shook her head over the dead mage on the floor. “I believe you have the evidence you need, Warden. If you don’t need me I shall return to Shianni, I’ll feel . . . cleaner if we can at least give these elves a start on setting up a proper clinic.”

 

  Jannasilane waited impatiently for Wynne to leave. Once the mage was out of earshot she spoke quickly, “Can we leave the city? Just for a short time? We can go back to our old campsite, there is something I must discuss and I will not do it here.” She practically hopped from one foot to the other while waiting for the answer.

 

“Does it have something to do with your ‘itchy’ feeling?” Alistair asked but she wouldn’t answer.

 

Blake studied her, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to wait just a few hours before returning to Eamon with our news. I want to check out the Warden vault anyway. You and Alistair go ahead and we’ll meet you at camp.” She leaped onto him and planted a huge kiss on his cheek before jumping down and tugging Alistair away. The Warden watched them leave and then looked at Zevran, “Well, I’m ready to leave this place. Any idea what’s going on with our Package?”

 

“I admit that I am most curious,” Zevran answered. Without a backwards glance they left the warehouse used by the slavers.


	65. The Words ‘I Love You’ Can be Complicated and Itchy is Good Sometimes

Blake waited until they were locked in the vault before pulling Zevran into his arms with desperate urgency. He tangled his fingers in that golden hair and held the elf so he could kiss him, not caring if he was rougher than usual. His body shuddered from the force of his emotions. Zevran was just as ardent in returning the Warden’s embrace, but concern niggled at the edges of his desire.

 

Blake found a chest and sat down. Gently he cupped the Antivan’s face when Zevran straddled him and noted the concern in those beautiful amber eyes, “I love you, Zevran. One of the happiest moments in my life was when you gave me this earring,” he touched the item briefly. “Sometimes a part of me envied Alistair and Jannasilane. Their love, it has a purity to it that’s incredibly beautiful. Neither of us can claim to be pure,” he smiled slightly and Zevran responded in kind. “I’ve had many lovers, and enjoyed all of them, but you, you are the only one I’ve ever loved. I want you to understand before . . .” he hesitated.

 

Zevran listened carefully. He had no doubts about the other’s feelings but this was difficult territory for him. He knew Blake well. Unlike Alistair who enjoyed telling Pocket Goddess how much he loved her _his_ Warden was much more reserved. Or perhaps discreet was a better word. When they were in camp he was more open in physical displays of affection or desire, it would have been pointless to try and hide it. But elsewhere he picked his moments to be open. They were alike in that. Even their unusual sleeping arrangements were explained away so that Eamon couldn’t be sure. He cleared his throat, “as you know, my dear Warden, I am no more accustomed to saying words of affection in my personal life than you yourself. Do not doubt you are important to me. I would brave the Black City itself to remain at your side.” Blake stopped any further words with a kiss.

 

“I know.” His eyes traced the Antivan’s features as if memorizing them. “I spoke to Anora earlier. She wants my support in the Landsmeet.” Zevran nodded sagely, he might not like her but he could not deny that she was an intelligent woman. Blake continued, “Alistair and Anora both underestimate how good a king he would be, but that’s just delaying what I need to say.” He breathed in the other’s scent as if for the last time, “Anora could be a good queen but I don’t trust her to rule alone.”

 

“Alistair as king . . . this might be good for Ferelden but it would hurt him and Pocket Goddess greatly,” Zevran studied Blake. He braced himself when he saw the misery in the Warden’s eyes, “but you are thinking you should be the one to marry the delicately beautiful and ruthless widow.”

 

“For the good of Ferelden they would both agree to his being king but inside something would die. Honor, and other considerations, would never allow them to stay together. Alistair’s a good man and a good friend but he is . . . vulnerable. The grand cleric didn’t die in Ostagar, more’s the pity. I remember her. He doesn’t realize it yet but she will be a threat to him the first time he does something she doesn’t like. I bet she got the whole story from that senior templar,” Blake sneered, angry at the thought his friend could still suffer from events long past.

 

“Twist the story and you have a king who was once anybody’s plaything and who murdered a templar . . .” Zevran narrowed his eyes, understanding the danger posed to a man who didn’t deserve such treatment. _“She will have to die. There is little enough I can do for him, even if he must never know. I dare not tell the Warden, though he may suspect.”_ Zevran sighed, “The Bannorn would never respect him, at least those who are not his allies. The snickers behind his back, the rumors . . . they would destroy him in time. Either he would withdraw further and further into himself or do something totally repugnant to him in order to force their respect.”

 

“And once the Blight is over the Bannorn may decide Anora wasn’t confident enough or strong enough to prevent Loghain becoming regent. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, Ferelden could be torn apart by the power struggles,” Blake added.

 

Zevran carefully kept his expression blank, “So this is where we part. It has been an honor and a pleasure, my dear Warden.”

 

He tried to get up but Blake stopped him, “‘Couslands always do their duty’ were almost the last words my father said to me. I am a Cousland, I can’t not live up to that motto but I also am not the noble, selfless man Alistair is. I don’t want to lose you, Zev, you deserve better than to be a secret but I don’t want to be without you in my life at all.” He released Zevran then and allowed him to move away. “You don’t need to answer me now, just, please, at least think about it.”

 

“Anora won’t like it,” the elf said carefully with a lifted eyebrow. “It won’t be possible to hide our arrangement from her. We could say I’m your personal security expert or some such and that would do for most. We’re clever enough to pull that off. But not from an intelligent wife.”

 

“I don’t plan on trying to hide it from her. If this potential marriage is going to work then I have to be honest with her about our connection. She may not be completely happy but as long as our actions never become public . . . and I would never ask you to refrain from other companionship, especially under the circumstances.”

 

Zevran wished he could disagree with Blake’s assessment. He imagined Alistair and Pocket Goddess separated by the throne, the inevitable pain. And what would it do to him and Blake if they were together at such a cost? Would he lose Blake as well as his two friends? He was not so sure Blake was right about Anora but understood that his Warden wasn’t willing to take the chance on somebody he didn’t trust. He sighed, “Does Alistair know?”

 

Blake snorted, “Would you believe he first suggested it?” He shook his head at Zevran’s surprise, “It was shortly before we reached Redcliffe with the Ashes. You and I hadn’t been together long and we were anticipating Eamon’s decision to put him forward as king. I couldn’t believe my ears when he started to tell me I wasn’t bad looking.”

 

“That is an understatement,” Zevran whispered and eyed the sexy man in front of him. He chuckled, “Alistair is a man of many surprises. Perhaps we should see what other surprises await us at our old campsite.” He stood and offered his hand to his Warden, “I presume you wish to discuss with Alistair your impending marriage before you speak to Anora. I think I would like to be called High Commander of Their Highness’ Personal Security. Do you think I should seduce Erlina? She is rather attractive . . . perhaps the odd maid or two to establish my ‘other credentials’ as it were.”

 

“Only if you tell me the details,” Blake grinned in relief. At the door he stopped him once again to stroke the side of Zevran’s face and kiss him very gently, “Thank you.”

 

For once Alistair had a hard time keeping up with his love. She was quivering with so much energy he thought she might actually burst into hundreds of tiny pieces. She insisted on circling their old campsite several times to make sure they were alone. He watched incredulously when she started to remove her chestpiece and belted skirt, “My love? Y-you know Wynne said to wait a few weeks b-before, umm, uh, d-doing th-that.”

 

Jannasilane leapt into his arms and wrapped her legs around him. She planted kisses on his cheeks and bit his lip before taking possession of his mouth. His arms held her to him; his hands began automatically kneading her wonderful bottom. She then kissed her way to his ear and worried his lobe between her teeth, “I admit I feel incredibly sexy, my Ali. I want to have my way with you, though you might be hurt. I want your hands on me, my breasts, my rear . . . my womanhood. I want to feel you deep inside me, so deep we are like one.” Her tongue delicately traced the structure of his ear and he shuddered from the force of his desire. When she leapt backwards out of his arms he whimpered, his eyes glazed and then astonishment overlay his lust at her next words, “But right now I need to climb a tree.” She danced away and he watched her disappear into the branches of a tall oak.

 

When Blake and Zevran appeared they were surprised to see the templar standing like a statue, pieces of Jannasilane’s armor at his feet. His gaze was riveted to a tree. “Where’s Package?” Blake demanded after waving his hand in front of Alistair’s face to get his attention.

 

“She, she kissed me, told me she was f-feeling sexy and then went to climb a tree,” he pointed. His arm was trembling still. The two rogues looked at each other, then Alistair, and finally the tree where they tried to pierce the shadows for a glimpse of the small woman.

 

Jannasilane was near the top of the old tree. Her eyesight was sharper than Zevran’s and saw their leader and the elf approach her beloved Alistair. She hadn’t lied when she told him how she was feeling. In that moment Fort Drakon might as well have happened to somebody else. She felt so very much alive, among the branches. She closed her eyes and felt the sun and the breeze. Jannasilane allowed free rein to memories unlocked from a long time ago; she remembered flying among the clouds, skimming treetops, the cries of her kind on the wind. She felt wings unfolding for a lengthy stretch, clawed feet gripping the thick branch, long tail helping to maintain balance and opened her eyes. It took a moment for her vision to adjust and then she was delighted to notice just how much she could see. She could even see the individual soldiers on top of Denerim’s towers.

 

She flexed her wings until she was satisfied they would obey her commands. She performed a few test flaps and then launched herself into the air. Exhilaration filled her as she flew over the treetops and deeper into the forest before climbing higher into the sky. She amused herself with aerial somersaults and cartwheels before turning back to her Wardens.

 

“What was that?” exclaimed Alistair when a large creature flew into the air and away. He, Blake and Zevran were anxiously searching for signs of Jannasilane.

 

“I, I do not know. It is smaller than a full grown dragon but I know of no other creature so large and capable of flying,” Zevran shook his head, mystified and a little afraid. Blake said nothing, just kept looking.

 

When the winged creature returned and began descending in slow circles Alistair knew. He began laughing and pushed away the bows Blake and Zevran had ready. “It’s her, she did it! By the grace of Andraste she did it.”

 

“That’s . . . Package?” Blake’s jaw dropped open. He collected his wits and turned to the confused elf, “I didn’t say anything before because as far as we knew that part of the Griffonsong program was unsuccessful. They didn’t just want to create natural Wardens; they wanted to breed Griffonsong – people who could turn into griffons.”

 

“Maker’s breath,” Zevran breathed in awe at the majestic beauty just landing in the clearing. He felt truly humbled to be allowed to see such a miraculous event. Now that she was landed he could see traces of the Pocket Goddess he knew. Wings and body were the same dusky gold as her skin and the mane framing her head . . . that was, Alistair’s words came to mind, ‘shades of autumn streaked with white.’

 

Alistair ran to her side and for the first time had to look up to stare into her gorgeous eyes. He couldn’t help grinning and stroking that long neck, “You are one beautiful, magnificent griffon, my love. No wonder you felt ready to burst out of your skin.” She leaned her head down to rest it on his shoulder.

 

Blake watched them with a delighted smile on his face. His smile got even bigger when Zevran slid an arm around his waist, “You are correct, my dearest Warden, to separate them with a crown would be a crime of the greatest magnitude. I am yours in whatever capacity you will have me.”

 

“Maker, I do love you, Zevran Arainai,” he turned so he could embrace the Antivan. Their lips met in promise and shared purpose. Blake caressed that seductive face, “Shall we go see Package up close in her current form?”

 

Jannasilane was trying to nudge Alistair but he was confused, “I’m not sure I know what you want.” She lifted one foot, or perhaps arm since it was in front, and put it down again. Slowly she moved her wings. She tried speaking but couldn’t figure out how to make the correct sounds.

 

“I think she wants you to get on top,” Blake suggested with his tongue firmly in cheek. Zevran snickered slightly at the look Alistair gave his friend. She rolled her eyes but moved her head up and down in agreement.

 

“B-but I’ve never even been on a horse,” Alistair looked a little panicked. “How do I get on? How do I _stay_ on?”

 

Zevran was walking around the Goddess; he couldn’t call her Pocket Goddess in this form. He stroked her back and hindquarters, marveling at the texture of her coat and muscles underneath. When her skin twitched at his touch he lifted an eyebrow and deliberately gave her hindquarters one long stroke. She twitched again more strongly. He grinned to himself and bent to look underneath her front legs.

 

_“What is he doing?”_ Jannasilane wondered before she felt hands rubbing across her breasts. Zevran straightened up quickly when he felt something snapping painfully against his rear. She was glaring at him; he decided he probably shouldn’t tease her while she was in this form if even her tail was dangerous. He was reminded of Shale . . .

 

“What were you doing, Zev?” Alistair asked suspiciously, echoing the thoughts of his beloved.

 

“I had an idea but first I had to determine what happened to her most magnificent bosom,” Zevran answered innocently. “Now I know. I think if we put our belts together and drape them over the neck of the Goddess you can hold onto them. It should do for a short and, how shall I say it, non-acrobatic ride.” Alistair’s armor didn’t have a belt but linking her belted skirt to the belts of Zevran and Blake made a loop big enough to hang low on her neck. She then lowered her elbows to the ground so Alistair could swing himself up.

 

“Make sure your legs are in front of her wings and squeeze them to help keep your seat,” Blake suggested. He and Zevran chuckled to see Alistair grabbing the makeshift harness when she stood tall. She walked around the campsite to give Alistair a chance to get settled before starting to flap her wings. The rogues moved into the trees to give her more room.

 

Alistair was excited, nervous and a little bit scared. He clamped his legs and held onto the belts with a death grip when she began to leave the ground. He closed his eyes, _“Maker don’t let me fall . . . or be sick.”_ He opened his eyes cautiously and then wide in wonder, “Woo-hoo!” he shouted against the wind. He closed his mouth quickly to avoid having the breath sucked out of him; talking while flying was definitely ill-advised. He was grinning from ear to ear when they landed.

 

“It’s getting late,” Blake warned. They’d all been getting used to Package’s new abilities though he would be happy if he never had to fly again. Zevran enjoyed it though, almost as much as Alistair.

 

Jannasilane shapeshifted back and put the rest of her armor on. She was glad to know that Morrigan was right about the clothes; she didn’t want to have to get undressed every time she shifted. Alistair caught her when she stumbled on the way out of camp, “Feeling tired, my love?” He was concerned she might have worked too hard.

 

“A little,” she admitted. Languidly she pulled his head down to hers for a sizzling kiss, “Sexy too.” And fell asleep.

 

“That puts me in my place,” he muttered with a smile. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms until they saw the city gates. Alistair hummed a little as they made their way back to Denerim.


	66. Successor to a Buttercup

Leliana was smiling when she went to talk to the servants in the kitchen. They were the best place to start if she was to complete the task Alistair asked of her before he left for the Alienage. Erlina was already there instructing one of the maids on the proper way to prepare tea for Her Majesty and was intrigued to hear the pretty bard’s unusual request. She elected to take the tray up herself, sometimes Anora needed to be reminded to eat. She was not at all surprised to see the queen staring pensively out the window. “Come sit down, Your Majesty. See, I have a tray with some of your favorite foods.”

 

Anora sighed and sat down. She allowed Erlina to pour her a cup of tea and chose a biscuit in a rather desultory fashion, “The Warden is a very . . . capable and intelligent man. We discussed a possible alliance before he left. What is your opinion?”

 

“He is very loyal to his friend, is he not? Do you think he believes you were the real ruler of Ferelden while married to His Majesty?”

 

“Ah, but he is a Cousland. There is no other noble family higher in rank or regard, in spite of Howe’s machinations to the contrary. Duty to country is a part of their family’s motto and they have never shirked from it in all the generations since before Calenhad. I knew his parents. I think I can safely say they made sure all their children were well grounded in current events and taught to study the political climate. The Warden appears to be as astute as his father. We even discussed the possibility of marriage, though only in the most general of terms,” Anora wasn’t quite sure what she felt about that or even if the Warden was thinking of Alistair or himself.

 

Erlina knew her mistress well, “Perhaps it is good that you both have time to reflect on the exact nature of your alliance. I daresay it will take some time for the Wardens and the girl with the hair to find the source of the trouble in the Alienage even with that Antivan assassin.”

 

“Do you know that even after what she suffered she was kind to me?” She ate without thinking while she repeated the conversation to Erlina. Knowing that Cailan found some peace eased her grief over his loss. “I wish there was something I could do beyond a simple apology but wouldn’t seem as if I were trying to purchase her favor or buy forgiveness.”

 

“Perhaps there is, Your Majesty,” Erlina offered with a small smile. At Anora’s direction she sat down and prepared a cup of tea for herself. “The woman Leliana traveling with them was in the kitchen questioning the servants. She was asking them about small dogs – who might have some or where she might look. Not just dogs smaller than mabari, but truly small dogs. I think the large Warden, Alistair, asked her to find out. When the two of them were speaking I heard him mention her name, the girl with the hair, Jannasilane, so it makes sense that he was asking for her, yes?.”

 

“And you know where to find these little dogs?” Anora asked. She’d also noticed a slight change in Erlina’s voice when speaking of Alistair and hoped it was just admiration and that she wasn’t developing a tendresse for Cailan’s brother. That would not end well.

 

Erlina nodded her head, “There was no need to say anything earlier but a man did stop by the castle. Like many with goods or services he came to the back of the castle and spoke to the seneschal’s assistant. He had some small dogs such as those owned by many Orlesian nobles. He hoped to find a market among local nobility or the more prosperous merchants but your father came out and told him Fereldans didn’t need little balls of Orlesian fluff.”

 

_“Of course he did,”_ Anora almost sighed. Really, her father’s paranoia or obsession about all things Orlesian was exhausting and responsible for much of their current troubles. “Do you think you could find this man, Erlina?” The pretty spymaid just smiled. “Of course you can, this is what we’ll do,” she leaned forward and outlined what she wanted. She sat back and ate a piece of fruit, “And Erlina, make sure he knows he will not lose any coin on the transaction if he does what you tell him. I don’t want anyone to know I had anything to do with this.” After Erlina left Anora smiled and began to eat more enthusiastically; it had been a long time since she felt completely happy about a decision. ~~~~

 

So far Leliana was having no luck. Since the Blight most people weren’t interested in dogs unless they could fight the darkspawn. She decided to have lunch in the tavern and rethink her approach. _“None of the dogs I’ve seen roaming the streets are anywhere close to small enough so I see no point in tracking down possible litters. I suppose a dog like Bon-Bon would not last long as a stray. Many of the ladies in Orlais thought of their small dogs as accessories as much as pets; Fereldan women are not so inclined to extravagant fripperies . . . Maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong places,”_ she smiled. Liselle, the pretty Orlesian woman who sold bath salts, creams, hair ribbons and other ‘fripperies’ could very well be the answer to her quest. _“It will be nice speaking to her again. She is most attractive . . . I wonder if she likes shoes.”_

 

“I think perhaps I can help you,” Liselle smiled at the redhead. It was nice to hear an Orlesian accent again. “A man was trying to get referrals, if that is the correct term, for his dogs. I spoke with him; he was most discouraged by a recent visit to the castle. Fereldans are a very practical people, no? and his dogs, they are not practical. He told me where to send a messenger if I thought someone was interested.”

 

“That would be lovely,” Leliana replied. “Perhaps while we wait you could tell me about these beads, they are very pretty but don’t seem quite right for a necklace.” Liselle explained how they could be used in braids or other hairstyles. If Morrigan had been forced to listen to the two of them talking about fashion and perfumes she would have turned them into toads and dared a templar to say she was wrong. _“. . . fortunately we can chat in peace,”_ Leliana smirked to herself.

 

Anora was sitting in her room with a book in her lap. She discovered years ago that if she appeared to be reading she was free to let her mind wander and think without interruption. Whenever she turned a page she moved her bookmark, keeping up the pretense. Just then she was thinking about the Grey Wardens, specifically Alistair. _“We had a decent marriage which is about as much as can be expected of an arranged match. Cailan loved me, though I am not sure how much of it was romantic. Perhaps with his other women he was looking for what Alistair has; it is obvious to the meanest intelligence that he and Jannasilane love each other and it is a beautiful thing to see. I was fond of Cailan but it was never a romantic love even if I frequently found him charming. Maybe if we hadn’t practically grown up together it would have been different. As it was we too often saw each other as brother and sister, friends not lovers. Alistair_ seems _a fine young man; I just wish he wasn’t Cailan’s brother. Would he even consent to a marriage between us? He would have to give up everything he has, everything he values for duty. They both have too much honor to disregard the bonds of matrimony and maintain a relationship on the side. Too much honor to be prince consort? Some might think it a worthwhile trade-off but I suspect Alistair is different.”_

She continued her musings, _“The Warden is honorable but he seems to be the more pragmatic of the two. Perhaps that is partly due to his being raised as a member of the nobility with a keen awareness that politics is rarely a clean business. He is an intriguing man, certainly he has been tested. Blake Cousland is difficult to read and his personality is . . . almost overwhelming in its intensity. In some ways I would prefer an alliance with him. And yet I think he would be constantly challenging me, is this a good thing? Of course it wouldn’t have worked with my father; he was blind to any but his own vision. Cailan was no Maric but he too would have hated to see what Ferelden has become under my father’s thumb.”_ For the first time she truly admitted to herself that her father had gone too far, that he wasn’t motivated by Howe but his own beliefs. All her life she had looked up to him, idolized him even, and now she had to acknowledge that he wasn’t the man he used to be. It hurt.

 

The sun was setting when the Wardens returned to a chaotic scene at the estate. Leliana had planned well. At her signal the dogman put down his box of puppies and let it tip over. Curious dogs went everywhere, including the kitchen. When Jannasilane stepped inside she heard the cook screeching to someone to “get that undersized rat out of my kitchen!”

 

“Lady, they are **not** rats!” a man shouted at her from under the table where he was trying to retrieve one of the puppies.

 

“Ha!” belched Oghren, “they wouldn’t even make an appetizer for a deepstalker.” He made sure his booze was safe and continued watching the show.

 

The commotion brought everybody from upstairs. “The bard has flair,” Anora chuckled quietly. Teagan and Eamon were perplexed by the events but before either could say anything they heard laughter.

 

Jannasilane was watching one intrepid pup trying to herd General Lee. When the mabari started to turn tail in frustration she burst out laughing. The little dog heard and cocked his ears before turning around and running straight towards her. She got down to her knees and he jumped into her arms and began licking her face. “You are fierce and sweet, aren’t you? Isn’t he adorable, my Ali?”

 

Alistair looked at Leliana in gratitude before nodding his head at the dogman. When he nodded back Alistair squatted down next to Jannasilane and the little creature, “You’ll have to think of a name for him, my love. Buttercup II, maybe?” He carefully stuck his hand for the puppy to sniff and couldn’t help noticing he could probably hold two in one hand.

 

“Really? For me?” her eyes were wide when she looked at Alistair. He couldn’t help grinning when the little dog tried to climb into her chestpiece. She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek before disagreeing with him, “No, he has his own personality. I loved Buttercup but this is not she. He is more adventurous and curious than she ever was.”

 

“You’ll never have to worry about them getting too large for you to handle, miss,” the dogman said politely, secretly pleased that a good home was found for at least one of his dogs. “Two of them put together won’t get to be the size of a large cat.”

 

Morrigan sniffed, “You will need to be careful that the Warden’s mabari does not swallow him whole.” An odd statement since the mabari in question was cowering behind her legs. If she meant to shame the large dog it didn’t work.

 

“The mini it better keep the mini-mini flea puff away from me for I doubt I would even notice if I crushed its teeny head,” Shale cautioned in an amused rumble.

 

“For such a small creature it has large ears,” Sten remarked. It was true, shaped like the wings of a fringed moth the ears would have overwhelmed the little dog except for its energy and the intelligence in its dark eyes.

 

Jannasilane held up her new puppy and looked it in the face, “You do flit around a bit, don’t you Nugflutter?” He barked at her and she smiled.

 

Oghren spewed and coughed, “Leliana’s got a nug named Schmooples and you’re going to call that nibble-sized fluff Nugflutter? You humans are crazy as a bronto after eating too many deep mushrooms.”

 

“For once you are correct, dwarf,” Sten retreated from the foolishness. He decided to see if the new security measures were complete. On his way he cast a reproving look at General Lee for his unbecoming behavior.

 

Blake enjoyed seeing Package happy again, happy in a way unrelated to being a Griffonsong. He noticed Anora smiling quietly from the sidelines and unobtrusively moved to her side, “Smiling, Your Majesty?”

 

She might have taken offense but for the sly teasing quality in his voice. She inclined her head, “Contrary to rumors I am quite capable of smiling without any danger of my face cracking. It would take a much harder personality than mine not to enjoy a moment of simple happiness. They are quite rare these days.” His eyes crinkled appreciatively.

 

“I would like to further our earlier discussion, if you do not mind,” he offered. “Perhaps I can inform both you and Eamon what we discovered and then we can talk.” Blake waited until she acquiesced and then offered her his arm.

 

Zevran watched his Warden leave with Eamon and the queen. It was harder than he thought until he looked at Pocket Goddess. Right now, playing with her new puppy, _“Nugflutter, what an odd name,”_ he could see traces of the child she was not so long ago. Even Alistair looked younger than he had in months. It all came down to moments, moments to treasure and remember. Perhaps he wouldn’t have so many private moments with his Warden in the future but he shouldn’t lose sight of the value of friendship, that those moments had a different and in many ways equal value. _“But enough of this philosophizing, I think I shall go ask Leliana about her vision again.”_

 

“Slavery is an abhorrent practice and one which my father has never endorsed. He said it was too reminiscent of how true Fereldens were treated by the Orlesian usurper. Truly he has lost his mind,” Anora frowned. “You have your evidence Grey Warden. Do you wish to speak of anything else?” She allowed him to open the door to her room and stepped inside without waiting to see if he would follow.

 

Blake grinned at her arrogance and shut the door behind him. He quickly schooled his expression into one of mild interest before she could turn around, “Before I left you asked me for your support in the Landsmeet.”

 

Anora contemplated him, her expression just as neutral as his own, “Does this mean you wish to talk about an alliance between us?”

 

“I think it should be cemented with marriage. I realize I am only the son of the highest noble family in Ferelden instead of a king but I think we might be able to work together,” Blake stated, “unless you prefer Alistair to me.”

 

“Do not mock me with false humility, Warden,” Anora snapped. “I know full well that many supported your father over Cailan as Maric’s successor even though your father was too loyal to even consider the matter. Those same people would be just as happy to see you on the throne with or without me over an unknown royal bastard.”

 

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Blake said sincerely. “I do not usually make such a misstep. I never anticipated discussing marriage with anyone for several more years and I merely meant to lighten the mood, nothing more. I am truly sorry if I offended you.”

 

“I fear news of my father’s activities may have blinded me to the lightness of your remarks,” Anora said cautiously. “In case you were . . . concerned rest assured that I do not prefer Alistair to yourself. Quite honestly he looks so much like Cailan it makes me nauseous to contemplate a union with him. Is this what you wish?”

 

“You are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met, Anora,” Blake said truthfully, deciding to forego further formality. “I can think of at least 100 worse things than rebuilding and governing Ferelden with you. I believe if we work together not even Orlais will willingly engage us in battle, despite the pressure from some of their more militaristic elements.” They spoke for a short time while Eamon wrote notes to be delivered to the Bannorn first thing in the morning calling for the Landsmeet to begin. He got to his feet, prepared to leave, and took her hand in his. “One more thing,” Blake pulled her up and into his arms. Slowly he cupped her face in his one hand, giving her plenty of time to move away if she wanted. He barely touched her cheek with his lips when he whispered, “Your skin is so perfect, you remind me of my mother’s tea roses. They were a pale, warm pink and looked so smooth and inviting. You had to be careful for the prize was greatly defended by the thorns but if you were successful you had a bloom of rare beauty in your hand.” He didn’t kiss her while he spoke, instead just letting lips and warm breath skim the surface of her skin in a promise of intimacy to come. Her breathing speeded up and he felt his manhood stirring in response.

 

Anora admitted to herself she was curious, the Warden was so much younger than herself, hardly more than a boy in years. Cailan had never been selfish in their marriage bed, but he had also never focused on her with the intensity the Warden now displayed. The sensation was unnerving and pleasing. When he finally brought his lips to hers she was ready and willing to explore these feelings. She enjoyed the feeling of his skin, so much rougher than her own, against hers. She slid her hands into his hair while their tongues danced and lips branded. She moved closer into his embrace and felt his erection against her thigh. “Well, I daresay you’ve proved your point,” she put her hands on his chest to give herself a little room. “This marriage at least has a chance of working reasonably well.” She was pleased to see she wasn’t the only one who was breathing a little more rapidly than normal.

 

Blake grinned then, “In light of our betrothal I thought it best to seal the deal with a kiss.” He sobered then, “I think it best to wait until the Landsmeet to make any announcements. What is your opinion?”

 

“I agree,” she nodded, pleased that he was thinking of the implications. Blake had a charismatic and forceful personality combined with an intelligent and subtle mind. She would much rather have him working with her than against her, _“Hopefully he is thinking the same of me,”_ she mused wryly. “Until tomorrow Warden,” and watched him leave until he shut the door behind him. She allowed herself to flop onto the settee and finally relax. The next day would be quite eventful and she hoped they were all ready for it. Her father would be formidable.


	67. It is Done

Anora stood at the window overlooking the busy marketplace of Denerim. _“All those people going about their business, some of them not yet realizing Loghain was dead at the hands of Maric’s bastard,”_ she struggled not to let bitterness overwhelm her. In her mind she could still see the man her father used to be and the little girl who adored him. She knew she needed to speak to the Wardens but she needed a few minutes to prepare herself to face Alistair again, _“Hopefully he’s had the sense to clean my father’s blood from his face.”_ She shook her head, trying to shake off her anger. _“If I’m to be fair my father’s actions justified his end; he committed so many crimes – or allowed them – that the Bannorn would have howled in outrage if he didn’t receive severe punishment. I think death would be preferable to banishment from his beloved Ferelden. But they never saw the man who brought rosebushes to my mother even though they cut him as he rode, or the man who taught me to play chess and draw a bow and was so pleased when I bested him.”_ The door behind her opened and she heard someone come in quietly and close it behind them. Her eyebrows lifted in angry surprise before she could mask her expression, “Alistair. Are you under the misapprehension that I wish to speak with you?”

 

He winced a little at the flatness of her voice but otherwise kept his gaze straight on hers, “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now. I can’t say I regret what happened at the Landsmeet but I am sorry you are suffering the loss of your father.” He shifted a little, “Um, I thought you might want to see me privately before talking to all of us. So you could, I don’t know, curse, shout, hit me, spit, throw things at me . . . well, maybe not spit. That’s really kind of gross – and that’s it.” He shut his mouth and just stood there, prepared to take her anger.

 

“You are a very strange man,” she frowned at him.

 

“I get that a lot,” he muttered.

 

“I nearly had you executed. As a son of Maric you’re a threat to my throne and others might use you as a rallying point against me. The Bannorn might not have liked it but they wouldn’t have stopped me,” she narrowed her eyes to gauge his reaction. “Even if they suspected it was merely revenge they wouldn’t have done anything.”

 

He nodded slowly, “I know. Being Maric’s bastard has never done me a lick of good, unless that’s why Cailan sent me and Blake to the Tower of Ishal instead of into battle with the rest of the Grey Wardens. We’ll never know, now. I meant what I said at the Landsmeet, about forswearing the throne for me and any heirs I might have. I wanted to make that clear to everyone present. I **never** wanted to be king, I **don’t** want to be king and I don’t want _anybody_ getting any ideas. I can serve Ferelden much better as a Grey Warden.”

 

“I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to forgive you even though technically you did nothing wrong. But that’s personal and right now I need to put that aside. I’d like to be alone for a few minutes; please tell your companions I will be with them soon,” she dismissed him and watched him bow and leave. _“And don’t think for one minute, Alistair Theirin, that I didn’t notice you swore fealty to **Blake and me** , not me alone. Was that to leave a way out for yourself or just to make sure all knew you supported us both? Once this mad betrothal becomes a marriage it won’t matter.” _She resumed staring out the window and turned her thoughts to her betrothed, _“He is years younger than Cailan yet seems older in many ways. I do not think it is due just to the Blight; he seems to take life more seriously, more realistically. Though that wouldn’t be hard,”_ she remembered fondly. _“Cailan could always ‘jolly me out of my excessive sobriety.’ We did have fun together. Will my new husband and I ever have fun? I’m not sure how I feel about his insistence on having the elf, the_ assassin _in charge of his personal security. He said I would never have to worry about other women . . . well, if he and this Zevran are discreet . . . he certainly isn’t adverse to women.”_ She flushed, remembering her reaction to his kiss. Even if it was simply a political expediency it did have potential.

 

“Eamon has already left for Redcliffe. We shall join our armies there. I understand the dwarves and many of the Dalish are already encamped. Riordan has already left to scout the horde and will meet us there with his findings. We should leave first thing in the morning,” she looked around the room at the eclectic group. The Wardens and some of the others stood respectfully at her entrance and she was pleased to see that Alistair kept to the background. Her expression softened ever so slightly when she saw Jannasilane controlling Nugflutter.

 

“We’ll need to split up,” Blake spoke. “There are some things Alistair and I need to do, Grey Warden things.”

 

“Very well, Warden. I’ll trust you to arrange things with your companions and to inform me of the details shortly. Wardens, men,” she left them then.

 

Morrigan watched her leave, amused by and suspicious of the woman. She could respect a woman who knew what she wanted and had the resolve to fight for it even if it almost interfered with her own plans. She turned her attention lazily to the Warden, not realizing that just as the Queen had done her gaze warmed just a little when it passed over the Warden’s toy. “Warden, you have plans for us?” she managed to make her question a seductive invitation.

 

A short time later the Wardens left Denerim with Jannasilane, Zevran and General Lee. And Nugflutter, of course. The mabari was still leery of the small creature and stayed as far away as possible. Even though they left before the others and were moving quickly they would arrive at Redcliffe at least a week later. They weren’t able to travel more than a few miles before making camp for the night. Blake and Zevran were scouting, _“or something,”_ Alistair thought while he and Jannasilane were left to watch the fire and set up the tent. Nugflutter slept by the warmth. “I’ve been wondering how you knew to change, my love,” Alistair asked.

 

Jannasilane stopped what she was doing and knit her brows in concentration, “After you told us what happened when you were young I dreamed. I dreamed I was flying high in the air. When I woke I just knew I would be able to change and my skin was itchy to try. Memories of being a griffon were, um, just there, as if a door were opened that had been closed and hidden. I have thought much about becoming a griffon. I think maybe it was because you trusted me enough to talk about something so personal and horrible. Some of the writing in her journal was before my mother was even born and spoke of the importance of a trustworthy Warden. She thought it was a warning to be careful but now I think it is more than that.”

 

“Hmm, I remember something like that,” Alistair squinted as if trying to reexamine the pages from memory.

 

“But now I think it is part of the, the recipe for change. I do not think the Grey Wardens wanted their Griffonsong to be able to change without them, or perhaps they wanted to protect the young Griffonsong. I do not know. But I _think_ that deep inside the Griffonsong is the ability to know when complete trust has been reached between Warden and Griffonsong. Even if you had not said anything I believe somewhere inside I would know you felt you could. I am free now to change anytime, anywhere, with or without you. I feel this truth inside me, but the ability needed to, to be unlocked.”

 

“O-okay, you were pretty tired after you changed,” he was trying to puzzle it out. “Maybe the Griffon group was worried about danger to the Griffonsong, like when a young bird first tries to fly or when a cub is first learning to walk so they put in this safeguard. Or what they thought was a safeguard. I suppose it could even have been an accident; they were trying to do one thing and instead did another. Just like the s-sex thing,” he added, feeling the blush creeping up his face.

 

“Perhaps,” she flushed and lowered her eyes. “I’ve been th-thinking . . .” she shook her head, “n-never mind.”

 

Alistair looked at her, trying to figure out what she started to say. He understood but couldn’t help feeling a little hurt that she stopped speaking, nor could he prevent a slight note of disappointment in his voice, “It’s alright, Janna. We better finish setting up this tent or Nugflutter will have to sleep under the stars and in the cold.”

 

“It is not alright, my Ali,” she put her hand on his arm in emphasis. “I miss you and then I s-start to remember and get scared. I was thinking I would l-like to t-try but I am a-afraid. Afraid that I c-cannot res-respond, that I w-will freeze and then p-push you away. Th-that would not b-be f-fair to you.”

 

He shook his head, “I understand _that_ , I’m not a complete idiot.” He knelt so he could see her face better. Alistair kissed away the tears she had yet to shed, “I love you, when you’re ready you’re ready. I can wait. Templars do get a lot of practice in self-control, you know. Have to in order to do a proper smite. Just talk to me, my love, don’t shut me out. For a long time I was sure I was . . . tainted, that I could never be with a woman because I thought I would fail or worse that she would be able to tell what happened to me and turn away in disgust. It was such a relief when I got to Ostagar and realized I _could_ talk to women. Maybe not very well but at least they didn’t sneer. I found a couple of them attractive and was happy, if a bit uncomfortable, when my parts started to respond to them. Then you came along and scared me to death. You were so much more. Do you know how many days I chafed in my armor because of how much I wanted you?” He smiled at her.

 

“I love you, Alistair Grey Warden Theirin,” Jannasilane sniffed and threw her arms around his neck. She sighed in relief when he wrapped his arms around her. She always felt safe, loved and treasured when he held her like that. She nuzzled his ear and spoke quietly, “Do you think tonight we could try just s-sleeping together?”

 

“I’d like that. I’ve missed you.” They held each other for a few minutes and then reluctantly he leaned back, “However we have to get this tent up, first.” The kiss he gave her was almost chaste.

 

When Blake and Zevran returned with some rabbits to cook they found the tent up and the large warrior holding the tiny dog in his big hands. They were both looking at the griffon stretching her legs under the trees. Nugflutter was barking encouragement. “Helha, Blhake ‘nd Zeh,” her words were somewhat muffled and slurred but understandable. She shifted back to her regular form, “Talking is a lot harder than flying. Lips are much easier to move than a beak.”

 

“I prefer soft, flexible lips myself,” Zevran smiled. “The things that skilled lips can do-”

 

“We get it,” Alistair hastily cut off the Antivan and rolled his eyes. “We thought it would be a good idea to practice speaking. That way if she sees something as a griffon she can say so without having to shift back; which would be very inconvenient while flying. She can, sort of, say ‘left,’ ‘right,’ ‘up’ and ‘down.’ It’s a start.”

 

Blake nodded his approval, “She can practice flying on the way. We’re going to go through some deserted areas which will be perfect. I don’t know how often you’ll ever use the ability, Package, but you might as well find out what you can do.”

 

“So that’s why you wanted to separate us from the others,” Alistair considered their leader. “I couldn’t think of anything Warden-related we had to do but I wasn’t going to say anything, not when it meant no Morrigan for a few days.” The others laughed at him. He handed Nugflutter to Jannasilane. He gave the pup a quick scratch behind the ears and then picked up a bucket, “I’ll get some water. You know, he’s going to need some earrings,” he nodded at the ball of fur she was holding.

 

Over the next few days Jannasilane got a lot of practice being a griffon and no longer got tired after shifting and flying. She also was able to speak almost normally. Nugflutter got his earrings. Zevran devised a simple harness, a sturdy combination of metal and leather she could even put on herself so any rider would have something to grab. Alistair never got tired of flying with her; each time was as exhilarating as the next. Blake and Zevran took advantage of their last opportunity to be open with each other, building up memories for what was to come. They were all a little bit sorry to reach the Spoiled Princess late in the day.

 

“I’m going to deal with the Circle first,” Blake decided. “Alistair, you talk to Stryder. If all is well we will leave for Redcliffe tomorrow. Package can get us a room,” he didn’t wait for an answer but loped off to Kester with Zevran at his side.

 

Jannasilane made a decision. She spoke to Fred and arranged for two rooms, one for her and Alistair. She wasn’t sure how long Blake and Zevran might be at the Tower so she arranged for food and drink to be left in their room just in case they were late. When Alistair came looking for her she was in their room with a pot of stew and fresh bread, “Mmm, that smells good. I’m glad we have this time together, just the two of us.” He took off his armor and washed up before sitting down. “Maker, it feels good to relax. Stryder says they are anxious to be off; the templars were very helpful with training and after what happened before had plenty of equipment to fill any gaps but nothing but practice gets boring.” He sat down and just smiled at her for a minute, “You look really pretty tonight, my love. I’ve always liked that blue robe on you.” They talked and ate. They drank some wine. Nugflutter was asleep under the table. Alistair was idly glancing around the room when he noticed something missing, “Where is the rest of the gear? I don’t see Blake’s or Zevran’s stuff anywhere.”

 

“Speaking of . . . they have their own room. I’ve missed you, my Ali,” Jannasilane admitted shyly. “It’s only been a few days but it f-feels l-like f-f-forever. I f-feel okay. Wynne gave me a p-potion a-and r-recipe so I c-can’t b-bec-c-come p-pregnant u-until we-we’re r-r-ready,” she shifted her feet in an agony of embarrassment laced with fear.

 

Alistair froze. He gulped. If he could move he would have pinched himself to see if he was awake. “I-it’s only b-been a few days, my love. I d-don’t want to rush you, or hurt you,” in spite of his words he felt anticipation building. He didn’t notice his goblet tilting until she removed it from his grasp when she stepped towards him.

 

“It seems more than that; perhaps it is because of changing. I won’t s-say I’m not a little bit afraid,” she licked dry lips, _“maybe more than a little,”_ she thought, “but I refuse to give in to fear.” She lifted her chin, “Soon we will be joining the army in Redcliffe and facing the bulk of the horde. I do not want to die without feeling your hands teasing my breasts, caressing my bottom. I wish to be filled with you once again.”

 

“You humble me,” Alistair whispered. “I’d like that as well. I love talking to you at night and waking up with you in my arms, curled on my chest like a blanket. What would you have of me?” At her direction he removed his shirt so that he stood there only in light trousers. He trembled when she began stroking her hands over him, more tentatively than she realized. He dropped to his knees when she kissed above his navel and started working her way up. Her breath sighing over his chest hair while her hands kneaded his muscles made him groan, “May I touch you, Jannalove?”

 

“Yes, please,” she nuzzled his neck, inhaling and filling her senses with him. His hands were so gentle as they moved over her skin. She allowed him to slowly open her robe, quivering when his hands brushed across her breasts. Alistair stroked her skin in long delicate caresses, the calluses from years of training and fighting at odds with the gentleness of his touch. He barely kissed her hair, murmuring words of love and desire. Tears filled her eyes when she realized what he was doing, holding his strength in check to replace memories of violence with tenderness.

 

Alistair felt a tear on his shoulder and stopped what he was doing. He wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs, “It’s okay, my love. We don’t have to do this now. You are so brave and strong-” she cut him off by laying her finger over his mouth.

 

“I do not wish you to stop, my Ali, you overwhelm me. I love you so much that sometimes I feel ready to burst.” She guided his hand between her legs, hot and damp with desire. He hissed when he realized she wasn’t wearing smallclothes. She groaned when he started tweaking her nub and sagged against him when he slid a finger inside her in one long slow stroke. He caressed the inside of her passage and she burrowed into his embrace. Jannasilane nipped his earlobe and he was the one to groan, “I want you, my Ali,” she breathed into his ear and began kissing her way to his mouth.

 

He slipped a second finger inside. Her response nearly broke his control but he was determined to give her as much pleasure as possible. When she kissed him he pushed his trousers down with his other hand, freeing his manhood before wrapping his arm around her once again. She tensed a little but relaxed when he didn’t move to enter her right away. He nibbled her lower lip and then kissed her brow, “When you’re ready, my love, when you’re ready,” he reassured her.

 

“Help me, Ali,” she begged. She became mesmerized by the glow in his eyes, brightening to molten gold. He grabbed her rear in both hands and kneaded the round globes before lifting her over the tip of his manhood. He positioned her until he was just barely penetrating her and moved his hands back to her rear, his fingers digging in. She didn’t care that she would have bruises, not from him; she loved how she could make him lose control. She reveled in his gasps as she lowered herself further and further until he was fully buried inside her. He moved then, maneuvering them until they were on the bed with his legs bent at her back.

 

He stroked her thighs and held his breath when she removed her robe and she was naked to his gaze, “You are so beautiful, my love, you make me forget to breathe.” His words made her feel powerful and treasured and she began to rock with the force of her passion. He waited to thrust until he felt her clenching around him. He couldn’t control himself any longer and threw his head back with the force of his release. Seeing him lose himself in their passion was enough to send her over.

 

Later, after their breathing was back to normal and their hearts no longer pounding, Alistair stopped stroking her hair and back, “My love, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

 

She levered herself up from where she’d been sprawled on top of him. Jannasilane inched up until she could touch her lips to his, “No, my Ali,” she said and watched the anxiety drain out of his expression, “you did not hurt me at all. I am happy to say that I feel most pleasantly relaxed, this is truth.”

 

“Pleasantly relaxed, huh?” he said with a huge smile, “I suppose that’s a good start.” She nestled against him and he resumed stroking her after sending a brief prayer of thanks to the Maker.


	68. Morrigan’s Offer

Darkspawn were attacking Redcliffe.

 

Blake had sent the mages, templars and former werewolves on ahead, saying that he and his friends would be enough to guard the cart of supplies the Circle was sending. He wanted the mages to have at least one day to speak to Wynne and get some instructions about fighting darkspawn. It wouldn’t hurt that they would have an extra day out of the Tower before the army left for battle. _“That was the plan, anyway,”_ he thought sardonically, surveying the village. Instead they barely arrived before the darkspawn appeared.

 

“It could have been much worse, Warden,” Wynne said tiredly. “Thankfully they each had supplies with them because the darkspawn showed up almost on their tails. I don’t think the darkspawn were expecting the Dalish and the dwarves to be ready for them.”

 

“I wonder,” Blake mused. He took a deep breath and let it out, “Wynne, when we saw the fighting we left a cart full of supplies up in the field,” he pointed. “You and Morrigan take anything you can use and carry and then distribute the rest of it to the mages. I finally got your Knight-Commander to agree to let the mages have daggers, but he said they had to stay in the cart until we marched to battle.” He grit his teeth angrily at the paranoia of the man, even if it was understandable after Uldred’s revolt.

 

“Bet he regrets that now,” Alistair muttered sotto voce. On their way to the castle he noticed Oghren and the dwarves directing the others on how to dispose of the bodies without getting infected. Once again bodies were piled and burned alongside Lake Calenhad. “I don’t like this,” he said aloud. “It was too easy and there aren’t enough bodies.”

 

“If this is your way of cheering us up I fear you are failing quite spectacular, oh handsome templar,” Zevran replied dourly.

 

They saw several Dalish archers lined up on top of the castle walls, watching for more darkspawn. Shale met them, “I see it and the other Warden have finally appeared. The older Warden arrived just before the attack and went immediately to the human Arl. It should go join them immediately. They seem quite anxious.”

 

Riordan was with Eamon and Teagan; his news was not good. “This was just a diversion. The Archdemon is leading the main horde to Denerim. They should be there in two days at the most.”

 

Blake looked balefully at Alistair, “You need to stop this habit of being right. It’s most troubling.” A slight crinkling at the corner of his eyes indicated Alistair’s amusement in spite of the seriousness of the situation but he said nothing. Blake turned to Eamon, “how soon can we leave? The sooner the better.” After they made arrangements to leave the next day Riordan said he needed to speak to the Wardens alone and would wait for them in his room.

 

Teagan offered to escort them and answer any more questions they might have. When Blake and Alistair continued down the hall he smiled down at Jannasilane, “How are you faring, my friend?” Before she could answer he noticed movement between her breasts. He blinked; his eyes goggled and then he grinned when Nugflutter popped his head out. “Lucky pup,” he smirked and held out his hand for the little dog to sniff and lick.

 

“I was afraid he wouldn’t be safe in the unprotected cart. I told him to be still while we were fighting,” she explained, her cheeks stained red with embarrassment. “I thought perhaps he and Connor could look out for each other.”

 

“I think he would like that. You’ll find him in his room, probably sulking because none of us would allow him out of the family quarters after Riordan came.” He winked at her, causing her to blush even more, and returned to Eamon. _“Of course there really isn’t much to talk about, the troops are well supplied and will be ready to leave at dawn. Mostly it’s the village and castle we need to make sure are protected while we are gone. Isolde will be the most difficult to deal with,”_ he sighed.

 

After Jannasilane left Nugflutter with Connor, who seemed quite happy to have the little dog for company, she went in search of her Wardens. Zevran had returned and made himself comfortable in their bedroom but Blake and Alistair weren’t there. She continued down the hall and passed an open doorway. Morrigan was inside and motioned her inside. “I wish to speak with you for a moment,” she said peremptorily.

 

Since the witch didn’t call her ‘Toy’ Jannasilane decided it must be important. She went inside and made herself comfortable in front of the fire. She waited but when Morrigan didn’t speak right away she tilted her head in curiosity. It wasn’t like the witch to not speak her mind. “Is anything wrong, Morrigan?”

 

“First I must warn you that I am no good at this sort of thing and my intent is not to cause you distress, though I most likely will do so,” Morrigan huffed. _“It doesn’t help that you look like a rag doll in that oversized chair,”_ she scowled and then made an effort to smooth her features. “I know you regret losing the child you and your templar started but it’s for the best.” Jannasilane paled at the bald statement and went very still as she sought to absorb remembered pain. Morrigan hurried on, “I’m sorry, but I know no easy way to tell you this. You appear to know much about the Grey Wardens . . . do you know what happens to the Grey Warden who slays the Archdemon?”

 

If anything Jannasilane’s pain increased. Her voice was barely a whisper when she answered, “Y-yes.”

 

“I had wondered. Then I must say that you have my utmost respect, becoming involved in a relationship which is doomed from the start. Many would be tempted to either resist becoming involved or try to dissuade their lover from their duty. What you may not know is what happens if a woman is near and carrying the child of a young Warden,” she paused to gauge the other woman’s reaction. “If you were pregnant and anywhere in Denerim when the Archdemon is killed its soul wouldn’t go into the Warden, it would seek out the unborn child, a way to survive without being tainted. An unborn child, especially in the early stages would not suffer from the possession. It would be changed, but otherwise unharmed. However, it would probably still die because the mother’s body would experience great pain and distress, possibly severe damage, during the invasion, most likely dying in the process. Even if she, you, survived then you would definitely die later when the old god tore out of your body.”

 

Jannasilane blinked at the hard words and bit her lips, “N-no, I didn’t know that. If my death meant my Ali would live I wouldn’t hesitate . . . but you’re saying my child also would die, most likely . . . no, I don’t think I could risk that. Nor would he want that. How do you know this?” she didn’t really care but was giving herself time to sort out her thoughts. This news was unsettling at the least.

 

“Flemeth, of course. And she also told me the ritual and other spells needed to protect myself should I choose to enjoy the company of the men I was accompanying. Neither of us knew the chances of that happening were next to none,” she smiled grimly, perversely pleased at her mother’s lack of discernment. “I’m sorry, but it is not something which I can do for another,” she said apologetically.

 

“Thank you,” Jannasilane spoke softly and then her head snapped up, “That’s why you’re here.” She opened her eyes wide in disbelief, “You and your mother hope to save the old god somehow.”

 

Morrigan blinked, “I sometimes forget how clever you really are. But yes, that possibility is one reason. Does it matter? Your Wardens can live. Will you persuade or dissuade them from taking advantage of my offer?”

 

Jannasilane thought for what seemed like ages. She considered her life with and without her Ali; how much she would miss Blake . . . She contemplated the witch. For all her brusque ways she was not unfeeling. Morrigan didn’t have to tell her anything at all and in a strange way she did feel better. She didn’t need the other woman to tell her that one of the Wardens would have to have sex with her for this ritual to work. Could she stand by while Alistair had sex and created a child with another woman? _“I suppose it is no different for me than it is for him to know I, that I . . .”_ she thought grudgingly. Finally she decided. “I will do neither,” she lifted her chin up. “I will support my Wardens whatever they decide but it is a matter for Grey Wardens. Blake, Riordan and my Ali will have to determine whether it is the best course and if they can live with the consequences of their choice.”

 

“Life and death are the consequences,” Morrigan scoffed.

 

“That statement is as naïve as you accuse me of being,” Jannasilane snapped back. “Do not try to pretend it is such a simple thing, Morrigan. Not one of my Wardens would father a child lightly and that is just one factor for them to consider. I will request they listen, but no more.”

 

“I think I liked you better when I thought you young and foolish,” Morrigan glared at the smaller woman.

 

Jannasilane snorted, her humor restored, “You do not. You’re just irritated I will not do what you want. I love Alistair so you still think me young and foolish.” Morrigan smirked but otherwise did not deny the charge. The two women sat in the dim light of the fire and watched for the Wardens. Sometimes they spoke but mostly they were quiet, Morrigan’s offer thick in the air. Both stood when they saw Blake and Alistair leave Riordan’s room.

 

“That can’t be good,” Alistair muttered. He examined Jannasilane’s face carefully; she was serious but did not appear to be upset.

 

“Wardens, I have something I must discuss with you,” Morrigan stated in her most imperious manner. She would have been horrified to learn that Blake figured out she used that tone to mask her uncertainties.

 

“Do you know what she’s talking about? What do you think?” Alistair asked his love.

 

Jannasilane nodded, “I think it is something she can best explain.” She looked at both of them, her manner as serious as they had ever seen, “Whatever you decide know you have my support and agreement. I will not advise you on what is essentially a Grey Warden matter.” She touched each of them as she left the room and closed the door behind her. She rolled her eyes when she heard Morrigan talk about a ‘loop in the hole’ but didn’t stop. _“She certainly likes to be mysterious, that Morrigan.”_

 

Zevran was still awake so she diverted herself by asking him to help her devise a convenient carry pack for Nugflutter. “I cannot always be popping him between my breasts. It is not good for either of us.”

 

“Worried he might smother in your magnificent bosom?” the elf asked slyly. “Many men could think of worse fates.” He seemed as glad as she to think of something other than the looming battle.

 

 Blake walked in some time later. He looked at Package, “I suppose that was interesting. Alistair went outside to clear his head; he said he wanted to think for a while before retiring. If he’s not back I’ll look for him in the kitchen.” He wasn’t sure whether or not to tell Zevran about Morrigan’s offer, _“at least not until we’ve decided ourselves. I certainly won’t tell him if we decide against it. Morrigan was right about that, he would definitely urge me in her favor, but I’m not sure that’s the right thing to do. I’ m not sure it’s the wrong thing, either. Damn.”_

 

 Jannasilane wondered but if Alistair wanted time to think, or anything else, she would make sure he had it. “Blake, I have been considering something since we learned about the Archdemon. Since Riordan can understand the darkspawn he and I could leave now. Once away from the army I can griffon-shift and we can fly towards Denerim. We might even reach the horde before they can enter the city and distract them, possibly lure them back towards your army. I have no doubt we will attract the attention of the Archdemon.” A part of her relished the idea.

 

“Absolutely not!” Blake nearly shouted the words, startling all three of them. He grabbed her shoulders so hard she knew she would have bruises and gave her a quick shake before releasing her. Then he embraced her, his arms tight as he apologized, “I’m sorry, Package. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He felt guilty because he had also thought of sending her ahead.

 

“Pocket Goddess, you are indeed brave and glorious to behold but we are not ready for you to die just yet,” Zevran said, his voice slightly hoarse from anticipated loss.

 

Blake sat down, “Zevran is right. I don’t see how you could survive with the entire attention of the horde dedicated to you. Riordan would almost certainly be killed before he could reach the Archdemon.” He sighed, “Your ability is unique and will certainly put you in greater danger than the rest of us. I won’t risk it unless there is some clear advantage to using you like that.” Blake smiled sadly, “Alistair isn’t here, why don’t we all go get something to eat. I’m starved.”

 

“Ah yes, the common Grey Warden complaint,” Zevran jested. “You have such _appetites_.”

 

With so many in the castle they weren’t surprised to see a few people in the kitchen. Servants were preparing as many provisions as possible for the army before it left and a few men were trying to settle down before retiring for what was left of the night. They greeted the Warden and his friends but weren’t inclined to linger after their arrival. “We’re keeping what’s left of the stew warm for any what wants it,” the harassed cook told them. “You can have that and some fruit, anything that can travel is being packed up so don’t go askin’ for anything else.”

 

“Do not trouble yourself, dear lady,” Zevran gave her a slight bow which flustered her. “That will indeed be a feast after much of what we have eaten on the road and we are most grateful. I shall serve us so you can continue the excellent job you are doing for the Arl.” He did just that while for a minute she almost forgot she was a married woman.

 

“You are a horrible man,” Jannasilane said with a small giggle when he set a large bowl of stew in front of her.

 

“For which I am incredibly grateful,” Blake smirked and aimed a leer at his lover. Zevran laughed and contented himself with fruit while he marveled once again at how much a Warden and the small woman with them could eat. Blake polished off two bowls of stew before he leaned back, momentarily replete. “I thought Alistair would be here by now,” he said casually. Jannasilane stared down at the table top, and made him think. “He’s ‘talking’ to Morrigan,” he said flatly, not sure whether to be angry or not.

 

“Yes, I believe so,” Jannasilane answered in a small voice. Then she lifted her head and looked him in the eye, “I meant what I said before, about supporting your decision no matter what you chose to do.”

 

“ _We_ didn’t choose anything yet. _We_ were supposed to talk and then decide,” Blake was irritated and beginning to get angry. He didn’t like his friend going behind his back, Package’s too, on something so important. _“I’m the leader of this group and I’m the one who should decide which, if either, of us performed some sex rite with Morrigan.”_ Part of his anger stemmed from the fact that he was relieved that Alistair acted the way he did.

 

Zevran stayed very still, trying to figure out what they meant other than just that Alistair was doing more than ‘talking’ to Morrigan. _“Oddly enough Pocket Goddess seems accepting of what should be a betrayal by her lover. Nor would I think him capable of cheating on her, especially with the cold witch no matter how lovely she is.”_

Alistair walked in, looking rather unhappy and haunted rather than pleasantly sated after sex with the talented Morrigan. He sat down at the table as if bearing the weight of Thedas, “It’s done.” He couldn’t bear to look at Jannasilane but she took him by surprise.

 

Jannasilane stood when he entered and watched him sit. She knew his decision was weighing on him; it would have no matter which choice he made. “My beautiful Ali,” she said lovingly. When he looked at her in surprise, his eyes begging for forgiveness, she smiled. She kissed him softly first on one cheek, then the other and finally on the lips, a benediction and was rewarded to see some of the somberness leave him. He hugged her then and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his whole body quivering with pent up tension. Jannasilane held him, stroking him until he was calm again. “There is nothing to forgive,” she whispered.

 

Blake brooded. He got up because he couldn’t stand to sit still so he paced. When Alistair was calm he filled a bowl with stew and set it down unceremoniously, “Eat.” He resumed his place at the table and glared at his friend. Alistair didn’t let that stop him from eating. He wasn’t hungry when he entered the kitchen but after Jannasilane’s reaction he decided he was starving. Blake didn’t wait for Alistair to have more than a few spoonfuls, “That was not your decision or your burden,” he began.

 

Alistair put down his spoon and leaned towards Blake, his entire demeanor forceful, “It was as much my decision as yours and no more your burden than mine.” He leaned back and looked around before continuing quietly, “We know that one reason you’re marrying Anora is so Jannalove and I can stay together. We probably wouldn’t be able to if I were king,” his entire face tightened at that alternative. “Instead you are the one to be king, thank the Maker, and this is one burden you don’t need to carry.” He picked up his spoon again and concentrated on eating.

 

“This is not the place to satisfy all my curiosity,” Zevran interjected, “but Morrigan, in her attempts to seduce the stalwart Sten, has boasted of her many talents. Tell me, Alistair, did you learn anything _interesting_? Something which perhaps you would wish to repeat with a different partner.” Alistair choked, coughed and blushed. Now Jannasilane was staring at her templar, wondering what new ideas he had. “Ah-ha! If you wish my help or advice in recreating the experience please, _please_ let me know. Perhaps it is even something I do not know, though that is hard to imagine with my vast repertoire,” Zevran concluded pleasantly. He was confident the Warden would tell him the rest once they were in private.

 

A measure of harmony restored the four friends returned to their room for what remained of the night.


	69. Denerim Under Siege

They made good time but the devastation of Denerim was well begun by the time the city gates were in view. Inspired by Anora’s speech the army surged forward and cut a swath through the horde. Even those who weren’t Grey Wardens could feel the presence of the Archdemon urging its troops to greater heights of destruction. Once the Wardens and the armies cleared the initial section inside the city they were able to make their plans for the Archdemon. The armies would continue to hold the gates against more darkspawn while regaining control of the rest of Denerim, but it would be a slow process.

 

“We have done well so far, better than I expected,” Riordan began. He waited for the mutterings from some of the Wardens’ traveling companions to die down before continuing. “Now we need to attract the attention of the Archdemon. I think perhaps the top of Fort Drakon would be best. I will leave immediately while you and Alistair, with a couple of your companions, make your way through the city. I can sense two generals already inside. Getting rid of them will certainly cripple the Archdemon’s defenses but might take too much time. This I leave to your discretion.”

 

Blake and Alistair looked at each other, grinned, then looked at Jannasilane whose eyes were whirling with anticipation, “Riordan, you wanna attract a dragon? You need Package. Nobody is better equipped than our little Package for getting the attention of a dragon. Package,” Blake kissed her hand, “I think this is the best way for you to use your talents.”

 

“Do not jump on its head without at least warning Riordan,” Leliana added.

 

“Challenge one high dragon without warning and they never let you forget it,” Jannasilane muttered.

 

Riordan’s eyebrow was practically up to his hairline, “I planned on going alone so I could move quickly.” The younger Wardens shook their heads, adamant that she accompany him. “Very well, I accede to your superior knowledge of the little one’s skills. Now, who will go with you and who will lead the armies and the remainder of your companions? Remember, a small group so as not to attract attention is best as you make your way to Fort Drakon.”

“Zevran, Wynne and General Lee will go with us,” Blake quickly said. “Oghren has led men into battle before so he’ll be in charge here.”

 

“Very well, I shall wait over there while you have any final words with your companions.”

 

Morrigan took Blake aside to argue with him, “Warden, I would go with you to see this through.”

 

He shook his head, “No. You know enough healing to take care of yourself but Wynne’s the best healer I know and will give us the best chance of getting to the top with fewer injuries. You, on the other hand, are very good at decimating enemies over a large area which means fewer darkspawn at my back. Besides, what you and Alistair did won’t work if you die before we’re done.”

 

Morrigan grudgingly conceded he had a point, “Very well. I have no regrets traveling with you, Warden. You helped me even though I know I did not make it easy. May you prosper after this battle is over. You will not see me again.”

 

She moved away and allowed him to speak to the others. She was able to avoid Alistair easily enough but the Toy was not so easily deterred. The small woman planted herself in front of the witch, “Since this is the last time we will see each other I wish to say thank you. Your words the other night did offer comfort, and you gave my Wardens a choice when you could have decided otherwise. I know it was in your interests, but thank you all the same. Be well, Morrigan.”

 

“I have never had any friends, and I can’t say I have any now. This is my own fault and one I cannot rectify it now. I think I would not have minded being your friend. What you and the templar, Alistair, have is special and a part of me envies you even if I find it confusing. I did not realize until the other night how much more he is than I previously thought. He was a considerate lover even though he did not wish to be with me and it was easier for us both because of it. I wish you, both of you, well.” Jannasilane briefly touched her arm and then left her.

 

There was nothing left to be said. Alistair and Jannasilane looked at each other, filled with emotion. Morrigan’s ritual may have given them a chance but the dangers each of them were going into could still mean the death of one or the other. Alistair cupped her face and caressed her cheek with his thumb, “I don’t dare do anymore for fear I will hold onto you and never let you go. I don’t want us to part without telling you one more time how very, very much I love you, my most wonderful and magnificent Janna. If we both survive I want to spend the rest of my life at your side and showing you how special you are.”

 

She covered his hand with her own kissed the palm against her face, “Your warmth chased away the cold encasing me after the death of my parents. You are my friend and the man I love beyond any words. I am the one who is lucky and nothing would please me more than to be with you for the rest of my life. I love you, my Ali, always.”

 

“Always,” he whispered before they left each other. They resisted the temptation to look back, which could only cause more pain and worry.

 

“So, little one, you have a talent for dragons,” Riordan said. There was a wealth of comfort and understanding in his voice, “Soon enough we will have to move silently but before we get to that point why don’t you tell me about your particular dragon talents.”

 

Alistair jogged to those waiting for him, “Right, let’s go slay that pesky Archdemon so we can get on with our lives. It’s taken enough of our time.”

 

“Really, Alistair, I doubt it will be quite as easy as that,” Wynne reproved with a chuckle.

 

“My dear Wynne of the magical bosom I have no doubt the courageous, handsome, noble templar and the brave, sexy, wicked Warden will prevail without breaking a fingernail,” Zevran jested.

 

“Quiet elf,” the mage sniffed, “one more word about my bosom and you may find you are not healed as readily as you might wish.”


	70. Battle Over Denerim

Riordan’s enhanced Warden sense and his knowledge of Denerim’s many alleys and back passages enabled them to reach Fort Drakon without too many encounters. They gained access to the top of one of the fort’s guard towers and barred the door against possible darkspawn incursion. “Fortunately for us the darkspawn we passed seemed more intent on wanton destruction than our presence. I wonder if they even noticed us in their frenzy,” he scanned the sky looking for their target.

 

“Riordan,” Jannasilane said firmly, drawing his attention to her and then threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, “For luck,” she said. She then retrieved what appeared to be a harness from her pack. She arranged it on the tower floor and then considered him, “My Rio, I think you had best lie down and close your eyes. I do not wish to accidentally knock you over the parapet and some dust will fly. Trust me,” she said when he hesitated. Jannasilane concentrated and once again reached into those ancient memories and felt herself changing.

 

Riordan felt a little ridiculous lying down when he should be looking for the Archdemon, _“But Blake and Alistair were quite confident of the little one’s capabilities. There must be more than what little she told me on the way here.”_ He felt the hairs on the nape of his neck rising, _“The air, it is different, heavier and there is a strange current. It feels like magic but the little one is no mage.”_ He felt a whooshing above him and a minute later she told him she was done. Riordan slowly stood and blinked, sure he must be seeing things. There, where Jannasilane should be, stood what he recognized from illustrations as a griffon. “I must be dreaming,” he reached out a hand to stroke the creature’s neck and encountered a mix of feathers and fur. “For the love of Andraste this is a miracle.”

 

“It is not a dream or a miracle, my Rio,” he recognized her voice though it was harsher and more guttural. “Come, help me with this harness and we shall ride the winds. The Archdemon will not fail to notice us now.” Hands shaking with wonder he did as she asked. Once he was seated she issued one final instruction, “Hold on and lean forward onto my neck if you wish to speak. Ready?”

 

“Ready, my friend,” he shouted back, eyes alight with anticipation.

 

She extended her wings and bunched her legs to spring into the air. She rose in lazy circles as much to seek the Archdemon as to let her passenger settle. She also wanted to be high enough to maneuver beyond the reach of arrows and bolts. “There, to your left, on the rooftop,” Riordan shouted. As if it heard him the great beast looked up and flew into the air to meet them. Jannasilane bugled a challenge and rushed to engage the enemy. The dragon faltered every time she sang, giving Riordan the opportunity to slash it with his dagger and Jannasilane to rake her claws across Archdemon hide.

 

Jannasilane was faster and more agile but much smaller than the Archdemon, nor did she have the strength or stamina of an old god. She sounded her battle song and flew out of reach, “We need to try something else, it is still too strong,” she shouted.

 

Riordan leaned forward, “We have weakened it but if I can get on its back I can better use my daggers,” he shouted back. She nodded her eagle head and circled above the injured beast, looking for an opening. She swooped down and dropped onto the creature’s back, singing. She dug her claws into its back and folded her wings so Riordan could quickly hop off. Once he buried his daggers into its hide she flew off and continued to harry the great dragon.

 

The deadly aerial acrobatics continued until the Archdemon disrupted Riordan’s efforts. He made an effort to save himself but only succeeded in tearing a wing before falling. _“Riordan!”_ Jannasilane slashed the dragon’s head and dove down. She was unable to avoid sharp claws tearing her hindquarters but ignored the pain in an effort to save her friend. She extended her front talons in order to grab him and had to resist the urge to clamp tightly around him instead of loosely caging him. He grabbed her leg and she slowed her descent before angling up and away from the falling Archdemon.

 

The two younger Wardens were making headway. “Let’s at least try to find these generals,” Blake decided.

 

“Right, I don’t want them kicking us in the backside when we tackle the Archdemon. Even if we don’t find them we’ll at least eliminate some of darkspawn it can call on for help,” Alistair agreed. “Who knows, we might also help Jannasilane and Riordan get through undetected.”

 

They fought their way through sections of the city, defeating the generals on the way, and reached the Palace district in time to see the end of the mid-air fight. The men stared in worried fascination as they watched the small griffon bedevil the much larger dragon. Wynne was intrigued, “By the grace of Andraste, what is that creature attacking the Archdemon? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

“Umm, maybe it’s Morrigan. She can change shapes and doesn’t exactly like to follow orders, you know,” Alistair suggested. He kept his eyes firmly on the battle above rather than risk the clever older mage seeing the lie in his eyes.

 

“Perhaps,” Wynne’s voice was dry as baked sand. She didn’t believe that for a second but wasn’t going to challenge the Wardens to tell her their secrets. Whatever the creature was it was beautiful and graceful.

 

They started to move forward when they saw a figure fall from the back of the Archdemon. “Riordan,” Alistair hissed. His heart leapt in his mouth when he saw Jannasilane diving down to rescue him and he winced in sympathy when the dragon’s claws ripped gashes in her skin. _“Fly away, my love. Get to safety before the Archdemon can destroy you,”_ his breath whooshed out of him in relief when she flew away with the older Warden. He couldn’t help notice she was less agile and hoped it was due to the way she was carrying Riordan. They also saw the Archdemon falter and fall, “They definitely did some damage; old Archie can’t swoop down on us.”

 

“Yes, swooping is bad. You are eloquent as always,” Blake snickered. He was trying to put Package’s injuries out of his head so he could concentrate. "Why don’t we go teach ‘Archie’ a lesson about messing with Fereldans?” The closer they got to Fort Drakon the harder they had to fight. The toughest and smartest darkspawn were stationed there to protect their leader. “Looks like the guards didn’t fare well,” Blake remarked when they got inside and saw dozens of bodies lying on the floor.

 

“Let us hope they managed to take out a genlock or hurlock before falling,” Zevran sneered. The memories of finding his friends in this place would rankle for some time yet.

 

“We’d best be careful,” was all Alistair said grimly. He forced himself to concentrate on moving forward. “Oh good, a necromancer, just what we needed to add excitement to our day,” he dealt out a smite and moved away from Wynne so he wouldn’t affect her with a mana cleanse. “Somebody’s been busy,” he looked around the kitchen at the piles of dead darkspawn bodies.

 

“Hmm, be careful. We don’t want to accidentally cut off an ally’s head – Sandal? Did you do this?” incredulous, Blake stared at the young dwarf, Bodahn’s ‘simple’ son. He didn’t have time to question the boy. Sandal had some more potions that they took with them. Sandal’s efforts helped but didn’t eliminate all the threats between them and the roof where the Archdemon dominated.

 

Finally they reached the roof. “Maker it’s huge,” Alistair muttered. They were momentarily stunned by the sheer, overwhelming aura of the giant beast. The intelligence and malevolence it directed at them was a physical force beating their minds and bodies, draining their will. They fought against it. Alistair shouted at Blake and pointed to the ballistae.

 

“Wynne, stay back. General Lee, guard our healer while each of us takes a ballista. Let’s weaken that bastard! Any soldiers that show tell the archers to try and pin its legs and the other troops to spread to each station. More of the darkspawn army will be joining us soon and I want our men to keep them out of our way,” Blake shouted back.

 

Minutes seemed like hours before she returned to the top of the guard tower. She meant to land lightly but her leg crumpled beneath her. Quickly she shifted back to her regular form in order not to crush the man she just saved. Jannasilane couldn’t help whimpering from the pain.

 

Riordan rolled away and opened the pack he’d left behind. He grabbed some health potions and poultices and returned to her side. He reached for her only to have her wince when he touched her arm. “Hold on to me, little one, and let me see what is wrong.” Jannasilane wrapped her good arm around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder while he undid her chestpiece and eased it down. “Your shoulder has become dislocated. I can shift your arm into place but it will cause you pain. Brace yourself,” he put her arm where it belonged. He kissed her hair and quickly removed her skirt so he could get to wounds on her hip and rear.

 

“You need to get to the Archdemon, I am barely scratched,” Jannasilane lied. She blushed when he ignored her and pulled down her small clothes in order to spread the poultice over the gashes. She couldn’t help sighing in relief.

 

“Drink this,” he gave her a potion and waited for her to finish. “You saved my life so I can continue the fight; it is no sacrifice to take two minutes to care for you. You, my beautiful, brave little one are a treasure and it has been my honor to know you. Rest now, you have done your part and it is time for me to do mine,” he gently held the sides of her face and kissed her forehead. “Here are more potions, may the Maker watch over you my friend.”

 

Jannasilane watched him leave, “And over you,” she whispered. She drank another potion before moving her arm. She grimaced but decided it was workable. She slathered more of the poultice over her gashes, and carefully pulled her small clothes back on. They would have to act as a bandage. She finished putting the rest of her armor back on and then tested her movements, frowning a little at her slowness. _“I may not be able to move as quickly as Zevran, but I can still do some damage. Perhaps I should concentrate on some of the darkspawn which try to come at my Wardens from behind, at least my voice still works. I am Griffonsong; it is my duty help fight the darkspawn.”_ She grit her teeth and defiantly opened the trapdoor to follow Riordan.

 

Riordan joined the fighting from the tower and quickly ascertained their strategy and took control of the last ballista. The dragon attacked first one and then another of them but slowly weakened under their onslaught. Then their battle took an odd turn, the Archdemon appeared to swell with anger and diverted its attention to the tower from which Riordan previously emerged.

 

_“There. It. Is. It shall pay for what it has done,”_ the Archdemon roared at the small woman joining the fighting. It was not at all confused by the change in form. Quickly genlocks converged on Jannasilane at their leader’s command. The hurlocks attacked with renewed energy, damaging the ballistae and preventing the Wardens from helping their comrade. The Archdemon lumbered towards Jannasilane, knocking soldiers out of its way. _“She cannot be allowed to interfere further.”_

 

Jannasilane gulped when the Archdemon recognized her and sent so many darkspawn at her. She did not see how she could survive but was determined to take out as many as possible, _“at least my Wardens shall have their chance. I AM GRIFFONSONG,”_ she sang and dodged. She ignored the pain as she darted, her blades slicing and slashing at every opportunity.

 

Alistair couldn’t see her from where he was fighting. He could only see that the Archdemon, ‘Archie,’ wasn’t focused on him. “Here,” he grabbed one of the dwarves, “keep working this, I’m going to try to get around to its flank.” The dwarf took control and Alistair slunk, if a man as big as he could slink, against the wall until the dragon was between him and the ballistae. The bulk of the darkspawn troops were also on the other side of Archie. A flash of movement from the tower caught his eye as he was positioning himself for best effect; it was his Janna and she was surrounded. There was nothing he could do for her except pray and take advantage of the distraction she provided.

 

Then the Archdemon picked her up in its jaws and shook her like the rag doll Morrigan accused her of being before flinging her into the tower wall. Alistair could hear the thud of her body hitting stone even above the din of battle and felt his heart seize in his chest. The great dragon wasn’t done, it picked up dead bodies and broken wall and threw them over the small, still body of the woman who insulted it. Never in his life had Alistair felt so much pain, then rage. All the anger from every abuse, every slight, and every injustice he had ever suffered combined into one powerful ball of hot, fierce rage. In that moment he understood Oghren; the templar became a berserker. He ran forward yelling, “For Janna!” and sank his sword deep into dragon flesh. He no longer felt the darkspawns’ blows and arrows; his entire being was concentrated on destroying the Archdemon. He never noticed his fellow Wardens joining him. Nothing the Archdemon did could stop him.

 

Finally the beast sagged to its knees, wheezing. Many of its followers were dead. Alistair roared; he drove his sword deep into the dragon’s skull. Magical energies surrounded him and he twisted his blade deeper until he felt the creature’s essence explode. The force threw him into the air until he landed hard on blood-slicked stone. He knew no more of the bitter victory.


	71. Two Weeks Later

Blake was pacing from one doorway to the other. Ever since that last battle he and Anora worked hard to put the pieces of Denerim and Ferelden back together. Riordan took charge of the thankless but necessary job of disposing of the darkspawn corpses so they didn’t infect the living. Somebody suggested an abandoned quarry a mile outside the city might be suitable; the only people who might be dispossessed were thugs and bandits. Once all the bodies were burned they were going to have a simple coronation ceremony to reaffirm Anora as queen and to honor those who fought. They decided to hold a more elaborate celebration combining their wedding with a joint coronation. When his dual duties didn’t take him elsewhere he paced or stared out the windows at Fort Drakon. In his mind he constantly replayed the fall of his two friends.

 

_“We won but it doesn’t feel like much of a victory. I almost don’t care that the Archdemon is dead. Alistair and Package . . . Anora has been a good partner, maybe our marriage won’t be so bad. Of course there hasn’t been much to disagree on yet. Zevran has been so discreet I’ve hardly seen him,”_ Blake continued to pace.

 

Zevran’s admiration of and worry for the Warden-soon-to-be-king rose in the days following that last horrific battle. The people of Ferelden were happy and he would not deny them their pleasure but those responsible for that happiness were anything but. When Blake was not doing his duty as a Grey Warden he was doing so with Anora as the future king, _“she insists on referring to him as her prince consort but this will not last, I think.”_   When he could find time away from his doubled duties he did just as he was doing now. Rarely did he allow himself to find comfort, either with his lover or his other friends. “Warden, the inestimable Wynne has said countless times that wearing yourself to a frazzle, even a most handsome one, will not help our friends. You rarely sleep. And now that these floors have been cleaned they are quite lovely and will remain so if you do not wear holes in the tile as you are doing now.”

 

Blake whirled on him, “It’s been two weeks, Zev, **two weeks**. I know the mages say they are keeping Package in a deep sleep because she was hurt so badly and she gets too agitated to heal properly otherwise. The list of her injuries is bigger than she is . . . Andraste’s bloomers; I was worried we might kill her just taking her off that thrice-damned roof. If Wynne hadn’t put up that barrier when the Archdemon threw her . . .” He sat down next to Zevran, his shoulders sagging in discouragement. He banged his head against the wall behind him, “And Alistair, none of the mages can say why he won’t wake up; his injuries are all healed by now. It’s not a normal sleep, he looks positively bleak.”

 

_“Bleak, that’s exactly how I feel,”_ Alistair thought. He only heard the end of the conversation outside his room. He’d had brief moments of wakefulness but he was careful not to let anybody know. Then he would have to face reality and that just hurt too much. _“Oh, Janna, why didn’t you stay at the top of the tower? If I had known . . . I wouldn’t have done the, the thing with Morrigan and died with you . . . you wouldn’t have liked that. You’d probably break my nose again for not getting up and helping Blake. Oh Maker . . .”_ He opened his eyes only to shut them against the painful brightness. He tried again, this time only cracking them open a little while he got used to the light. He looked around the unfamiliar room and saw an unfamiliar young mage, an apprentice healer, sitting at a little table near the bed. The boy appeared to be unsuccessfully working on a spell, “W-wh-where,” his mouth and throat were too dry and thick to work right but it was enough.

 

The boy jumped up, knocked over his chair and stared at the big man on the bed. His eyes practically bugged out of his head and then a big grin practically split his face from one side to the other. “You’re awake,” the lad was so excited he didn’t notice his voice squeaking, “I gotta, I have to . . .” and he flew out of the room.

 

_“Could have given me some water first,”_ Alistair resigned himself to waiting. He couldn’t help hearing the mage lad in the hall.

 

The young mage in question, Brody, ran right into Blake. “W-ward-, I mean, Your Maj-, Your Wardesty,” he was mortified. Then he remembered his errand, “I have to get the Senior Enchanter, he’s awake, the Hero’s awake,” and he ran off.

 

Blake and Zevran looked at each other, grinning, before rushing in the opposite direction and saw their friend struggling to sit up. “Tsk, tsk. Zevran, would you take a look at our friend? For two weeks he’s done nothing but lie in bed and now he can hardly sit up.”

 

“He is a bit thinner but still a well-made man,” Zevran teased. He poured a glass of water and handed it to the templar who nodded his thanks and drank it down. His hands were shaking but he managed not to spill. “We were quite worried about you, oh handsome templar. I am sure you wish to know of Pocket Goddess,” he sobered at the pain crossing Alistair’s face.

 

“Don’t. I already know,” Alistair closed his eyes for a moment. His fellow Warden and the assassin exchanged looks of concern. “The only woman I want is dead,” his voice was hoarse from two weeks of disuse. “Did you know the Archdemons can see through the eyes of the darkspawn? It left me a ‘present,’ I can see it raking its claws down her side and later throwing her into the wall. I can see what every genlock saw as its blade slashed her flesh and her blood spurted out. I can see every maul that crushed muscle and bone.” His listeners paled at the thought of being flooded with such pictures.

 

“She’s not dead, Alistair,” Blake hurriedly stopped him from continuing. “Yes, she has multiple injuries and came damn close to dying and if it hadn’t been for Wynne she would have,” he blinked at the disbelief on Alistair’s face.

 

“What my dear Warden says is true. She is just down the hall, asleep while mages monitor the progress of her healing.” For once he easily pushed the warrior back down on the bed when he started to get up, “No, no. You can see her a bit later after Wynne examines you and after you have a hot bath. You, my friend, are currently a bit fragrant to be visiting anyone recovering from injuries. You will feel better once you are clean and have clean clothes. Ah, I do believe I sense a magical bosom approaching,” Zevran spoke lightly but with compassion.

 

“Quiet, elf,” Wynne repeated words she’d said frequently over the past few months but there was no heat behind them this time. She was smiling, happy to see Alistair awake at last. “You had us all quite worried young man,” she kept up her gentle patter while she examined him.

 

“I better let Anora know, if she doesn’t already,” Blake looked around the empty hallway. _“Won’t be empty for long once the word gets out,”_ he pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I didn’t know Archdemons could do that, either of those things,” he corrected himself. “Riordan will be interested. No wonder Alistair didn’t wake up; his own mind taunting him with such devastating memories. If it had been you hurt instead of Package . . .”

 

Zevran didn’t like that line of thought, “But it wasn’t and we are all here, my dear Warden. Perhaps later we can celebrate the fact we are all alive,” his eyes gleamed at the memories he planned on creating. The answering heat on the Warden’s face was quite satisfactory. He sighed gustily, “Alas that will have to wait.” One suggestive wink and he was off to arrange for the templar’s bath.

 

“Is she really alive, Wynne?” Alistair couldn’t help asking. He looked so vulnerable Wynne’s heart broke just a bit.

 

“Yes, Alistair, she really is alive and healing steadily.” She finished her examination and smiled at the young man, “Other than some weakness from being in bed for two weeks I pronounce you fit. Food, a bath and light activity should see you at the top of your form in no time. And before you ask you can see her after you are clean and fed. It’s been two weeks, young man,” Wynne said sternly, “another couple of hours will make no difference.”

 

Alistair sighed. He knew there was no point arguing and a hot bath did sound nice. He moved and got a good whiff of himself, _“Whew, I really do need a bath.”_ He rubbed his hands over his face and grimaced, a bath wasn’t all he needed. He threw off the sheet and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stretched and looked around the room, hoping to find some clothes or a robe or _something_. “At least they kept my smalls on,” he grumbled. Not finding anything, _“Even the stuff I wear under my armor would be nice,”_ he decided to stretch and do some light exercises while he waited for his bath. He was shaky at first, and his muscles definitely let him know that they’d gotten used to the soft life but he persisted until servants started coming in with his bath. He snatched the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his waist, “Sorry, I couldn’t find any clothes and thought I might as well start to get back in shape.”

 

“No need to apologize, sir, we are all quite excited and happy that you are up and about,” the one in charge spoke up. Clara was amused by his blush and couldn’t help admiring his form. _“My Ben should be so ‘out of shape;’ that little woman is very lucky to have such nice big muscles to hold her. I wonder if the rest of him is that big,_ “she mused _._ Judging by the way her fellow servants were glancing at him they were thinking similar thoughts, even Jake.

 

Alistair may not have noticed their interest but Zevran did when he came in behind them. He couldn’t fault them for their taste since the templar looked quite appealing with his muscles glistening with a light sheen of clean sweat. He decided to have a little fun and picked up a loaf of bread from the tray being carried in, “Alistair,” he purred. He noticed Alistair’s eyes gleaming at the sight of food, “Catch.” He threw the loaf across the room and Alistair had to drop the sheet in order to catch it. Even he noticed the sighs from some of the maids and turned a bright crimson. He glared at the grinning Zevran and quickly sat down at the small table. His annoyance couldn’t compete with his hunger. “The cook thought you might like some soup and bread before you bathed,” Zevran said. “There is more for afterwards. I know how much _appetite_ you Grey Wardens have though I suspect she thinks I plan on eating it myself. She is quite suspicious of me for some reason.”

 

“That’s cuz of the way you flirt with her daughter every time you see her, Sugar Lips,” Clara explained.

 

“Sugar Lips?” Alistair choked. “Not Smarm Master?”

 

Zevran put his hand over his heart, “You wound me and here I am looking out for you and Pocket Goddess. I am most unappreciated.” He shook his head sorrowfully but received nothing but snorts and giggles.

 

Alistair was still hungry but he’d taken the edge off by the time the tub was filled. As soon as everybody but Zevran was gone he shucked his smalls and stepped into the hot water. “Oh,” he sighed, “this feels good.” He leaned his head back and stretched his legs, “I can even stretch out.”

 

“The better brothels usually have at least one large tub,” Zevran shrugged, amused at Alistair’s goggling. “Use your imagination Alistair and I am sure you will understand. Ah, I see that you do understand.” He perched on a chair near the tub, ready to offer his assistance if the large human needed it. _“He would surely crush the lad if he fell on top of Brody,”_ he snickered to himself.

 

Alistair was busy scrubbing his face which also allowed him to hide his reactions from the elf. He couldn’t help thinking of sharing the large tub with Janna which only caused another reaction he wanted to hide. He tried to think of something else, “Where are my clothes? I can’t just wear my smalls all the time.”

 

“Too bad, I think I find the idea rather appealing however I shall put my desires aside and send Brody to fetch them,” he sauntered out and returned a moment later. “That lad is most in awe of you, my friend. I believe he would blink for you if he could.”

 

“Ha, he’s also in awe of ‘His Wardesty,’” Alistair smirked. It was nice to have something to tease Blake about for a change. He looked at Zevran sitting so patiently, “Zev, are you okay with things? I mean, it’s not going to be easy for you.”

 

Zevran would have diverted the conversation but the concern in those hazel eyes staring at him changed his mind, “It will not be so bad, my friend. I am to be in charge of personal security for His Highness and will have a place in the family quarters away from prying eyes. Certain opportunities will be rare but there are compensations. It is a freedom and a status I never thought to have when I was with the Crows. I doubt I shall suffer from a lack of willing partners if I so desire.” Hearing a noise out in the hall he opened the door to see Brody struggling with a pile of clothing. “Come in, my fine young apprentice. Our Grey Warden was wondering if he would have to stroll about naked, something which we might enjoy even if he would not.” Alistair snorted behind him and some of those in the hall strained their necks trying to see the man in question while Zevran guided the boy inside.

 

Brody stood rooted to the floor, trying not to look at the large man in the tub. Zevran was amused at his efforts and made it harder when he took the clothes from the boy. He offered Alistair a towel, holding it just out of reach and forcing Alistair to step out of the tub for it. Alistair glared at him and quickly secured it around his waist but not before young Brody got an eyeful. “Y-you’re really, really big,” he said in awe, and then blushed furiously. “I mean, I knew you were big, and not fat at all,” he added hurriedly, “but now that you’re awake you look even bigger. Are those scars from darkspawn?”

 

“Yes, Alistair is a very _large_ man indeed. And a man of enormous appetites, more so than other Grey Wardens. You should be sure to let the kitchen know it will take much to satisfy him,” Zevran teased. The templar rolled his eyes and the young healer looked somewhat confused.

 

“Leave him alone, Zev,” Alistair sighed. He decided to answer Brody’s question, “Most of them are, some are from bandits and a couple of old ones are from training accidents. We were fortunate to have a talented healer like Wynne traveling with us.”

 

“I’m gonna be a healer,” Brody stated proudly. “First Enchanter Irving says I have an, um, affinity for it. I might even be a spirit healer, though I’ll probably never be as good as the Senior Enchanter or even Anders. Maybe I can even be a Grey Warden.”

 

Alistair looked at the lad; he was a bit older than he first thought. “How old are you, Brody? Have you gone through your Harrowing yet?”

 

“I’m seventeen, sir.” Brody’s shoulders sagged, “But First Enchanter says I’m not ready for my Harrowing yet, he thinks I get distracted too easily.”

 

“Same age as Janna,” Alistair murmured to himself. Louder, “The First Enchanter is right to make you wait. A Harrowing isn’t easy, nor is the life of a Warden. Focus and willpower are important for Grey Wardens too. We’ll have to rebuild the order here in Ferelden, and that will include mages. If you’re still interested after you go through your Harrowing let the First Enchanter know. Healers will be needed even if they don’t become Grey Wardens but that decision isn’t up to me.” A thought struck him and he sat up to stare at Brody, “You’re a healer. Tell me about Janna’s condition.” He had no idea how commanding he sounded.

 

Brody gulped, “Well, she was really badly injured. I’m surprised she’s still alive. Nearly every bone in her body was broken and she was bruised all over. She looks like a damaged eggplant. Even some of her internal organs were bruised with bruises. She was badly sliced up but those were trivial compared to the other injuries. Her lung was punctured and her liver, spleen . . . they were all torn up. She had a lot of swelling which made it harder to heal. We stopped the bleeding but we actually had to prevent the bones from healing themselves until we could get the swelling down or they might set wrong and have to be re-broken.  That’s why we’ve had her in such a deep sleep and at first in paralysis; we didn’t want to risk her moving and hurting herself further. Where the swelling is gone we’ve been able to repair the bones and tissue. We’ve had to be careful, too much healing energy and it will spill over into other areas. It’s a delicate balance. Any swelling that’s left is pretty minor and we’ve been able to repair all her internal organs and most of her bones. A lot of it is beyond my skill so I was sent to keep an eye on you after your wounds were healed,” he was more comfortable talking about his field of study. When he stopped he noticed how pale Alistair and Zevran had become. “But she’s a lot better now,” he hurried to add, “There’s no reason for her not to make a complete recovery. She’s going to need a lot of rest for the next few weeks but she will get better.”

 

“Try these, Alistair,” Zevran handed him some clothes. The dark brown trousers were a bit too tight to fasten at the waist and they had to use some string to keep the ends of the waistband in place. The cream colored tunic was more than long enough to cover the makeshift closure. It was full in the waist but not quite wide enough in the shoulders. Fortunately it was sleeveless so didn’t pull too much and a belt took care of the extra fullness at the waist. “That will do for going down the hall,” Zevran decided. He produced a pair of Cailan’s sandals. In footwear the brothers were almost of a size.

 

Alistair thought Brody’s extensive description had prepared him, but he was wrong. _“She looks so small and fragile, like she’s not all the way here,”_ he thought. Her eyes were sunken and bruised. He understood what Brody meant by a ‘damaged eggplant.”

 

“You can hold her hand, Alistair,” Leliana told him quietly, her voice conveying sympathy and understanding. “She really is much better than she was. She may be asleep but I think she knows we’re here, go ahead and talk to her. I am glad you are back with us, your being here will help her, I am sure of it.”

 

He sat down by her bed and gently picked up her hand. He stroked it while he stared at her then brought it to his lips and kissed each of her fingers, “I’m here, my love. I thought I lost you and that I would never see you again but here you are. We won, Jannalove, though I’m sure Leliana told you that already, but it won’t feel like a victory until you’re well again.” He held her hand against his cheek and kissed her palm. The maidservant later told her fellows it was the most romantic thing she’d ever seen.


	72. The Making of a Hero

“Wynne said I was healed, surely I can at least look at my Ali through a window,” Jannasilane pouted stubbornly. She held Nugflutter close and he licked the side of her face before barking at the person upsetting his mistress.

 

Brody shook his head, “She said you were _almost_ healed.” He wished nobody told her the Hero of Ferelden was going to be walking through the streets of Denerim with an escort like a parade. _“Can’t blame her, I’d like to see it myself,”_ he thought wistfully. He wavered, “Look, if you promise to be still I’ll go see if there’s anything we can do. The Hero will have my hide and the Warden my head if you get hurt. Then there’s the Orlesian Warden, Bann Teagan and the assassin _and_ the pretty redhead.” He blushed whenever he thought of Leliana; he thought she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. She had such interesting stories and was always very nice to him.

 

Jannasilane rubbed her nose in Nugflutter’s fur, “I am glad Teagan brought you back from Redcliffe, Nugflutter. I know I am being most temperamental when I should be grateful, but I did so want to see my Ali get the recognition he deserves. And he looked so very handsome and sexy in his new clothes. I think perhaps he likes them as well but he is not comfortable with all the attention.” She leaned back against her pillows; she wouldn’t admit to herself that she was tired. She stroked her pup’s fur and remembered Alistair’s complaints.

 

_Alistair won one battle when Wynne agreed to let him move his bed next to Jannasilane’s but lost the one with Leliana and Zevran. Wynne slowly woke her up and allowed them a few minutes before shooing him out of the room so she could work. He went down the hall to look through the clothes Brody brought earlier to see the two rogues discussing each piece. He reached for one of the tunics to try on only to have Zevran snatch it out of his hands, “That color is most unsuitable for you.”_

_“As long as it fits who cares about the color?” Alistair grumbled. Leliana winced and Zevran shook his head._

_“You are an important person, oh mighty Hero, and your appearance must strike the right note. You wish to rebuild the order, yes? Definitely you must be seen as the capable warrior you are, ready to fight at a moment’s notice, even when you are not wearing your armor.”_

_Leliana nodded vigorously, “You are a most attractive man, Alistair, and wearing sleeveless tunics or vests allows people to see the strong muscles that brought down the Archdemon. Even the scars will remind them that you are an experienced fighter.”_

_“It is a good thing you do not prefer bright colors or anything too ornate. Simple clothes in neutral, dark or earthy colors will emphasize your humility. A little style sets you apart from just any soldier. Like it or not you are a leader. For now you are the one the people of Ferelden will think of when they talk about Grey Wardens. We want you to appear fit, strong, confident, mature, intelligent and capable of leading men against the enemies that threaten them,” Zevran was amused at the confused disbelief on the templar’s face._

_“Huh,” Alistair grunted, “I’m not a hero.” He looked from one to the other, ending with Brody who seemed to agree with everything the other two said. “I do like not having sleeves, they always make me feel a little strangled, like I can’t move.”_

_“Until now you have never had clothing tailored to fit your build. I assure you, it makes a difference. Such things can wait, however. Now let the lovely Leliana give you a shave, a pirate’s scruff is not your best look.”_

_Alistair looked at himself in the mirror when they were done. The dark tan pants and green tunic fit him much better than those from earlier in the day. He could even secretly admit that he thought looked pretty good. He moved closer to the mirror so he could better see his face. Leliana had left him with thin sideburns that seemed to define the planes of his face while the beard, similar to Teagan’s but without the mustache, added a look of sophistication completely new to him. “I think I like it. Do you think Janna will?”_

_Leliana and Zevran looked at each other with wicked grins then back at the templar, “Oh yes,” they answered together._

 

“My Ali was most surprised to discover that Blake, Zevran, Leliana and even Teagan worked together to provide him with his clothes for the ceremony in black and Grey Warden blue with silver. Did you notice the griffon heraldry on the cloak? It is like the griffon on Duncan’s shield, the one my Ali carries with him. Arl Eamon surprised us all. The Arl is a most clever man; he had Owen make two steel armbands with griffons etched around them. I have a confession, Nugflutter; those armbands make his muscles look even more impressive and are most sexy. I wonder . . .”

 

“The seneschal says there’s a small balcony on the other side of the Palace, if you’re not too tired,” Brody said breathlessly. Jannasilane smiled excitedly and stood. When she swayed Brody ran to her side and caught her before she fell.

 

She was mortified, “At least this will give me a chance to learn how to walk again. Thank you for catching me, Brody.” She looked around the room for her pack, just as Alistair had two days previously. She frowned, “Brody, where are my clothes? I cannot prance through the Palace in just a night dress.”

 

“S-sit down while I look around,” Brody wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the opposite sex but those few hurried encounters didn’t prepare him for spending any time with a female in a very thin night dress. He could even see her nipples! He didn’t dare look down. He quickly searched through drawers and cabinets and handed her a mustard colored garment which was long enough but, “I found this, I think it’s somebody’s tunic but it looks kinda big. There’s some belts and scarves, but nothing else.”

 

Jannasilane sighed; it was truly the ugliest color for her even when she was looking her best. She chuckled ruefully, _“With all these bruises nothing is going to be flattering and I do not know why I worry. I should hope that I do not drown in all this fabric.”_ She looked at the young mage, “Do not worry, a belt will be fine.” Slowly she padded behind the changing screen. Every movement was painful but she ignored it. When she was dressed Brody couldn’t help laughing, she looked like a child in her mother’s clothes. Jannasilane stuck her tongue out at him and took the belt he offered. On their way to the balcony they passed a mirror and she stopped, horrified, “No wonder Leliana did not let me see myself. Even rats would run away in fear were I to step foot in the darkest alley.”

 

“The young miss is most incorrect,” the seneschal interjected, ignoring her start at his sudden appearance. “All know that a young woman who helped the Grey Wardens was most grievously injured. Your bruises are badges of honor and not one man worthy of the title wouldn’t be honored to have such a brave young woman at his side. If you will allow me,” he offered his arm to the bemused Jannasilane and, with Brody on her other side, assisted her to the balcony where she could look for Alistair. “I took the liberty of providing you with some light refreshments; all items approved by your senior healer, a most commendable woman. Good day, miss,” he gave her a shallow bow and left them.

 

Alistair found her there a few hours later, sleeping on the settee. She woke when she felt lips against her own. She blinked owlishly and then smiled at him, “My Ali, you looked most handsome. We could see you from here. How was the ceremony?” He picked her up and carried her back to her room, telling her everything.

 

“I think the Bannorn were relieved that the wedding would be in three months and that the official coronation would take place then. They’ll have a chance to get home and start repairs instead of waiting here. There will be an informal gathering tonight for any nobles still in Denerim, though many have already left. Anora and Blake arranged with several ship captains to have supplies brought in for rebuilding; when the Bannorn return for the wedding they can purchase them directly from the crown instead of having to place orders. I think Isabela may have been one of their contacts,” he chuckled at the thought of the self-styled pirate queen in discussions with Ferelden’s queen.

 

“Highever has been officially restored to the Couslands and a large portion of Howe’s vault in Denerim included as some recompense. The best news is that Blake’s brother, Fergus, survived. He was badly injured in the Korcari Wilds and so missed the battle at Ostagar. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Blake so happy. You’ll see what I mean tonight at the party,” Alistair smiled remembering Blake’s stunned expression when Anora produced Fergus and missed Jannasilane’s distress.

 

Jannasilane shook her head, “I am in no condition to go to a party, my Ali. I can’t even wash my hair and am hideous and -”

 

He cut her off, “Don’t ever say that. Not to me.” He pushed the door to his sitting room open and closed it behind her. As per his request a hot bath was waiting for them. Alistair gently put her down in a chair and quickly stripped down to his smalls. After a moment’s hesitation he put on the light britches he habitually wore under his armor before helping her out of her clothes. He picked her up and stepped into the tub, sitting carefully in order not to jostle her. She moaned in happiness at the soothing liquid heat surrounding her. “Just relax my love, let me wash your hair and bathe you.” Carefully he helped her dip her head in the water and she willingly bent forward so he could massage her scalp and back with strong, soapy fingers. He rinsed her hair and leaned her against him, carefully wringing the silken mass before placing it over his shoulder so it could hang out of the tub. A light sweat formed on his brow as he continued to bathe her, sliding soap-slicked hands over her breasts. Her purrs of pleasure made him glad he was wearing something or he might give in to temptation before she was ready. “Your legs seem awfully long for a short person,” he said, lifting one up.

 

“I am not – oh,” she gasped when he pressed the bottom of her foot. Alistair stopped what he was doing and looked at her in concern, “Nothing is wrong, my Ali, I was just, erm, surprised.” He stared into the glimmers of desire and felt his own starting to rise. He took a deep breath to steady himself before moving to her other leg. Jannasilane watched through her lashes as those strong hands moved over her so delicately, so carefully, and so _thoroughly_. She could feel his heart beating faster when he moved to her more intimate parts and understood why he wore britches. She snuggled against him and sighed, “You pamper me, my Ali. I think I like it, this is truth.”

 

“Nobody deserves it more, my love,” he answered her hoarsely. He wrapped his arms around her under her breasts, “Just relax, sleep if you wish, I’ve got you.” He enjoyed holding her like this, even if a part of him was uncomfortable. Alistair remembered he still had other news for her, “Fergus invited us to Highever to finish recuperating, Riordan too. Riordan said he could show us where he believes Duncan lived before his family left Ferelden. I’d like to put up some sort of memorial for him, too bad we can’t have a proper funeral.”

 

“Maybe we could do as the Dalish and plant a tree for him next to a memorial stone,” she suggested.

 

He kissed the top of her head, “I like that idea. Maybe we could take the acorn back,” he teased. She giggled. He sobered, “I think Fergus doesn’t want to go back alone to repair the damage Howe did to the estate. He and Blake have a lot of ghosts waiting for them. Riordan won’t stay long; he’s agreed to set up a training program at Soldier’s Peak for new recruits after he reports to his Commander in Jader. He might even know of a few seasoned and diplomatic Wardens who might be willing to relocate to Amaranthine at least until we can build up our numbers.”

 

“Amaranthine? Why?” she tilted her head back to look at him.

 

“Anora brought me up on the dais, introducing me as the ‘Hero of Ferelden’ and asked me what I wanted,” he rolled his eyes at the title. “I didn’t know what to say at first. I could hardly blurt out I’m just happy not to be king and then I thought of Ostagar and Duncan. I asked that the sacrifices of the Grey Wardens never be forgotten again. Not only is she going to arrange for a statue here in Denerim she’s giving the Arling of Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens. They can never be kicked out of Ferelden again. Not easily, anyway.”

 

“This is good news, my Ali. The Grey Wardens now have two homes instead of none,” she struggled unsuccessfully to hide a yawn.

 

“That’s it,” Alistair bundled her into a towel and put on some dry clothes then sat down with her in his lap. He started to brush her hair in long, soothing motions, “Go to sleep if you wish, Jannalove, let me take care of you. Remember that first night in camp after we met? I brushed your hair then, too. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed; I consider it the first truly intimate thing I ever did with a woman. Kissing you, caressing you, of course they are too but this,” he continued to talk quietly, sweet murmurings that continued even after she drifted into slumber. When he felt his own eyelids start to droop he picked her up and carried her across to the bedroom and lay down with her firmly wrapped in his arms. The healers nearby monitored their status and let them both sleep, satisfied with their patients’ progress.

 

When Leliana woke them later she was happy to see the sparkle back in her friend’s eyes, “You are looking much better, my friend. I come with refreshments and then I will help you get ready for tonight. Wynne said you may stay for no more than three hours and she will turn Alistair into a toad if you do not come back in that time.”

 

“Hey,” the big blond protested.

 

Leliana ignored him, “She knows you will not risk harm coming to your Ali.” The bard giggled, leaving her friends unsure whether what she said was true. She stayed while they ate and then shooed Alistair away so she could work with Jannasilane. The minute he was out the door she embraced the small woman, “You and your penchant for dragons, I was so worried about you Jannasilane. Blake was very high-handed with the seneschal; he refused to carry you further than necessary and browbeat the man into providing these rooms for our heroes. He used his status as Anora’s betrothed to great effect. To be fair, once the man saw how badly injured and still you and Alistair were he stopped protesting.” She unveiled a clear garnet colored silk dress and displayed it in front of Jannasilane.

 

“This is much prettier than that other garment,” Jannasilane’s muttered as she fingered the beautiful material.

 

“Yet you wore it anyway, you are more stubborn than vain,” Leliana retorted affectionately. She helped Jannasilane put it on and narrowed her eyes in consideration, “A little loose but that is probably for the best. It is not very full and will sit lightly on you, which is also good. The color is lovely against your skin and hair, even with the bruises. Why is it that bruises are ugliest when they are closer to being healed? Nothing can make that yellowish, greenish color at all attractive. A glamour charm will take care of that, it can’t hide all the bruises but it will hide those.” She draped the charm around her friend’s neck. “Yes, that is much better.”

 

Jannasilane let her friend’s chatter wash over her. She knew that arguing would get her nowhere and truthfully she did not have the sense or skill that the bard did. When she was done Leliana pulled her to the mirror. Jannasilane’s eyes widened in awe, the length of cream lace loosely tied around her waist, the ends almost reaching the floor, seemed to make her taller. She went closer to the mirror, she could still see the bruises around her eyes but Leliana did something so that now the color and shape of her eyes was emphasized rather than hidden, the lashes long and lush. Wisely the bard did not try to put rouge on her cheeks. Instead she deepened the color of her lips to a rich wine which drew the looker’s attention. Jannasilane put a hand to her reflection in the mirror, “I look pretty, not hideous or scary at all.” Even her hair was arranged differently, some of it side swept and gathered in a low ponytail over the opposite shoulder that mingled with loose curls down to her waist.

 

“You are more than pretty,” Leliana sniffed. “I believe Alistair will agree with me, I hear him pacing out in the hallway.” She opened the door to usher in the templar. His reaction was more than satisfactory. When he stepped into the room his jaw dropped at the transformation.

 

Slowly he approached her and stared until she grew nervous. A huge grin spread across his face, “You look beautiful, my love, I am the luckiest of men.” He offered his arm, “Shall we join the festivities?”

 

Leliana watched them go with a smile, _“Morrigan should have let me dress her. Even the lowliest merchants would laugh her out of Orlais were she to show herself in those rags she insisted on wearing.”_


	73. Highever

_“There, that’s the last of it,”_ Jannasilane was ready to take a rest. She still got tired easily, “Though I am asleep many more hours than I’m awake,” she grumbled to herself and then looked around guiltily to see if anybody overheard her. She couldn’t fault the hospitality she and Alistair received from Fergus Cousland but neither man would be happy to see her up on the ladder cleaning Highever’s walls.  _“Blake was so eager for me to meet his brother; he seemed no longer to be carrying such a huge burden. They favor each other greatly, though Fergus has brown hair and dark eyes and is more sober in his demeanor. Of course that could be his grief. I bet he was quite the flirt before he married,”_ she thought, recalling how he greeted her at Anora’s gathering.

 

_The two Couslands strolled across the room, calling out greetings but not stopping until they reached her and Alistair. Fergus brought her hand to his lips, “The small woman of immense beauty who traveled with this rapscallion brother of mine and helped the Wardens defeat the Archdemon. I would consider it an honor if you allow me to follow in my brother’s footsteps and call you sister.”_

_Jannasilane couldn’t help blushing, “You and Teagan must have attended the same school of charm,” she blurted out to the brothers’ amusement. She blushed even harder when chuckling came from behind her as the Bann joined them._

_“You are too kind, my lady,” Teagan’s eyes twinkled at her as he bowed to her. “It is a relief to see you looking so well, and you, Alistair,” he smiled at the two of them. The large, handsome blond warrior and the strong, lovely woman at his side caused quite a ripple of interest when they entered the room. He held out his hand, “Fergus, it is so good to see you again, friend. I have only been to the Korcari Wilds once; it is a most strange place.”_

_“True. It also has pockets of unexpected beauty as well and a large variety of plants and animals where it is not spoiled by the darkspawn. I rather fancy the Dalish will do well at Ostagar with the Wilds to hunt. It was good of Her Majesty to cede them that land in recognition of their assistance,” Fergus agreed. Something in his voice caught Jannasilane’s attention but she had no time to ponder what it meant before Bann Sighard approached them with a request for her to accompany him to the queen._

_Anora watched her approach, and stopped her from curtseying. “Please,” she indicated a chair next to her, “no formalities tonight. I have been politely warned by my seneschal that you are only allowed to attend for a limited time. I am pleased to see you looking so well; I was concerned when informed of your injuries.” Indeed she had been. To the surprise of the servants she stopped by every day while Jannasilane was unconscious to sit by her side for a few minutes and to check on Alistair’s status._

_“Thank you, Leliana is very skilled,” Jannasilane replied, somewhat at a loss._

_“That she is,” Anora chuckled, “but I think much of the credit has to go to your own recuperative powers and the attentions of a certain Grey Warden. Blake cannot leave yet but he tells me you both are going to Highever with Fergus,” she changed the subject. “Cailan always enjoyed Fergus’ company and I’m glad he won’t be returning alone to face what Howe did to his family home. We visited once, shortly after we married, it was a beautiful estate and the city was quite charming.”_

_“I look forward to seeing it. My father was from Highever but I have never been myself,” Jannasilane replied truthfully. “My Ali has never been either so it will be a new experience for us both. We cannot continue to trespass on Your Majesty’s hospitality forever, this is truth.”_

_Anora waved aside her concerns, “I hope this experience proves less exciting than your more recent adventures and to that end I wish to offer you the use of a carriage. The late Arl of Denerim, Arl Urien,” she clarified, “preferred that to horseback or walking across the square and had quite a collection, some of which escaped damage by Howe and the darkspawn. I cannot allow you to use one with the crest, which would only invite thieves in any case, but since there is no current Arl all property is under the Crown’s control. One of them is quite large enough for a party of six or Alistair to ride comfortably,” Jannasilane grinned appreciatively at the reference to her Ali’s size. “It certainly will not be needed before the wedding, if even then.”_

_“Th-that is very generous, it is truth that I was worried about traveling such a distance. I do not wish to be a burden to Teyrn Cousland or my Ali,” Jannasilane stuttered a little._

_The carriage was as comfortable as Anora suggested it would be. Jannasilane missed much of the journey due to sleep but when awake she got to know Blake’s brother a little better. Fergus was both eager and reluctant to reach his home, something Jannasilane thought she understood. Fergus decided not to go through the city first, he wasn’t ready to face complaints or pitying looks from its citizens, all of whom would have suffered under Howe’s thumb. They approached from the coast; Jannasilane and Alistair found the views breathtaking. “There’s a small meadow not too far from Highever with a view of the Waking Sea. That was Elissa’s favorite spot when she wanted some peace from her older brothers. She’d sit, watch the sea and write really dreadful poetry,” Fergus looked like he wanted to both laugh and cry. He was silent a moment. When he spoke again they weren’t sure if he was talking to himself or them, “Oriana was a bit unsure of how she would settle in Ferelden, her life was so very different in Antiva, but when Elissa invited her to ‘her’ meadow I knew everything would be alright.”_

_“It was alright until that creature struck,”_ Jannasilane took a moment from atop the ladder to survey the dining room. Howe had left a mess. All the bodies from his ‘takeover’ were piled up between the city and the castle but not burned. That would have apparently been too respectful. New bodies were just thrown on top. They had to pass it on the way in and the stench was well-nigh unbearable. Inside the castle was somewhat better, but it was obvious that cleanliness was not a virtue Howe wanted to waste on Highever. The men took on the gruesome task of identifying the bodies and giving them as proper a sendoff as they could. Alistair, the former templar, was called on to say a few words at each ceremony until somebody arrived to take over duties at the Chantry. Not one of the sisters and brothers in the city or castle escaped Howe’s men.

 

Jannasilane found herself in the unusual position of ‘mistress of the manor.’ Neither Alistair nor Fergus would hear of her helping them and kept insisting she take it easy. The few surviving servants deferred to her in all things regarding the upkeep of the castle. Pots and pots of boiling water and soap couldn’t take away the smell of old blood and gore allowed to remain for months. She got all the servants together, “This castle will never be a home until we can remove all traces of that night. There is a plant my mother and I used for cleaning which is also most effective at replacing old odors with a pleasant, lemony scent.” She described it carefully, “It grows quite freely in the woods where I grew up and in the Korcari Wilds.” It was the same plant she’d used when cleaning their tent walls. One of the younger servants, a boy not much younger than she, offered to take her into the woods on a search mission. The next morning after Fergus and Alistair left half a dozen young men and women armed with handcarts escorted her into the nearby forest. Fortunately the plant grew quite freely and the filled the carts with it, pine needles and wild lavender.

 

Under her direction they created different solutions: lavender-enhanced for the family quarters; lemon-only for kitchen and dining areas; and pine-enhanced everywhere else. She wasn’t sure how much of a difference they would make, _“But at least we will know which are more pleasing to Fergus. Hopefully the lavender will help to calm his thoughts. My father always liked the lemon-lavender scent in their bedroom and lemon-pine in his work room. Actually, I think he would have preferred nothing in his work room but my mother insisted.”_

 

Now the walls and floors of the small dining room were not only clean, the stone practically sparkled. The more time they spent cleaning with the new solutions the happier they all were. It was hard work but her solutions did indeed remove all lingering traces of the massacre. There were many areas still to clean; it would take days for the entire castle to be washed, so Jannasilane suggested they start with rooms used for eating and sleeping. She’d been working so hard she barely registered the sounds of barking and men’s’ voices coming nearer.

 

“I should have guessed the rat-bastard would even lie about that,” Blake shook his head in disgust. He, Riordan and Zevran had just arrived only to see his brother and Alistair toiling over the dead. Days later and they were still not done. “I would have come home sooner if I’d known.”

 

Zevran shook his head, “No, my dear Warden, you would not. You would have worried and felt guilty while you and Riordan were satisfied that the darkspawn were safely disposed of and there was little chance of outbreaks of the Blight disease. I am sure our mighty templar, even weakened by battle, has been of great assistance to your handsome brother.” Fergus grinned at the outrageous elf.

 

“Probably,” Blake admitted. “Why is there a tent in the courtyard?”

 

Alistair smothered a laugh but it was Fergus who answered, “Your little friend is a very bossy Package. She won’t allow us in the castle until after we have bathed and changed. Even _our_ servants stood behind _her_ orders. We put on work clothes in the morning and deal with the dead. When we’re done we go into the tent, drop our filthy clothes into the waiting laundry kettle, bathe and change into the clean clothes waiting for us. Even with your arrival I know they won’t let us in until we complete the ritual so you go ahead. We’ll join you later,” shaking his head he and Alistair hurried into the tent. Neither wanted Jannasilane to know that they liked her routine; it gave them a chance to shake off some of the grimness of their days.

 

Blake didn’t answer. He was absorbed in looking around the grounds, noting the damage and listening to the echoes of the past. General Lee whined as if he too remembered the sounds of soldiers and servants crossing the courtyard, flirting or arguing with each other or just passing the time of day. There should be mabari pups training by the outer wall, their yips and barks a counterpoint to the human activity. The Cousland kennels were respected all across Ferelden and now they were empty and silent. Riordan and Zevran looked at each other and sat on the steps, allowing Blake time to remember. Blake came out of his reverie when Fergus and Alistair stepped out of the tent. Together they entered Cousland Castle.

 

“Something is different,” Fergus remarked when they entered the Great Hall. He sniffed the air of the newly refreshed room. A few of the servants had begun working on the walls and floor after the family quarters were finished.

 

“It’s yon Warden’s young lady,” one of the younger men answered eagerly. “She says as how we needs to make this a home again and we took her into the woods so’s we could fill our handcarts with some forest weed. She boiled ‘em up, said this stuff’d get rid o’ them nasty odors and it works right enuff it does. Hard work it is but Maker, these old stones shine like glass they does. She don’t mind getting her hands dirty, neither.” His admiration of Jannasilane blinded him to the efforts of his fellow servants to shut him up. He forgot she was supposed to be resting after her injuries until he saw the dark looks his lordship and the Wardens were exchanging.

 

“Come brother, let us check the family quarters for a hopefully sleeping Package,” Fergus and Blake marched off in one direction.

 

“I’ll check the kitchen,” Alistair said with the glint of battle in his eyes.

 

General Lee had run off the minute they were inside the Castle so only Zevran and Riordan were left. They watched one of the older servants cuffing the head of the talkative one, reproaching him for getting the Warden’s lady in trouble. “Shall we search for our wayward Pocket Goddess? Warn her perhaps that she is due for a _tongue_ -lashing?”

 

“Let us go, my friend. I do not wish the little one to suffer unduly though she should be admonished if she has been overdoing. It is not so very long since she woke,” Riordan added, amused at the Antivan’s choice of words. They followed the sounds of barking.

 

Jannasilane cocked her head, _“That sounds like General Lee and that means . . .”_ she took a breath and gathered her strength as she prepared to descend the ladder. The mabari came barreling around the corner closely followed by the diminutive Nugflutter who barked a warning. The war dog was unable to avoid crashing into the ladder and knocking her off her perch. Fortunately Zevran was close enough behind to leap forward and catch her in his arms before she could crash onto the hard floor.

 

“Once again a beautiful woman falls into my arms. I do adore this Fereldan custom,” Zevran quipped and kissed her hard before putting her down and shaking her. “Are you trying to turn my beautiful blond locks gray? You gave me quite a fright, bellissima.” He held her close, not sure which of them was trembling.

 

The minute she regained control of her legs Riordan whirled her into his embrace. Lightly he kissed her lips, “It is good to see you little one. You look well, even if you have been overdoing,” he gently rebuked.

 

She pouted mutinously, “I could not do nothing while my Ali and Fergus wore themselves out taking care of the dead.” She smiled then, “I am most glad to see you both even if you are scolding me. I certainly planned on descending less quickly,” she glared at General Lee who had the grace to be abashed.

 

“Then perhaps you should plan more carefully,” Alistair came running when he heard the commotion. It only took a glance for him to figure out what nearly happened. “Damn it, Janna, what were you thinking? Are you developing some perverse fondness for getting knocked into stone surfaces?” he yelled.

 

“I am no fragile flower,” she yelled back, though she felt like a foolish one at the moment.

 

“Oh no?” he said softly and took a step towards her. One look and she took off running with him pounding behind her.

 

“It is good to see things are back to normal,” Zevran remarked with a straight face.

 

Fergus and Blake were standing in the hall outside the bedrooms. “Mother would have loved this, the scent and the way the stone walls practically sparkle,” Fergus said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them like this and you know how she was about cleanliness.”

 

“‘Cleanliness brings you closer to the Maker,’” Blake quoted softly. He smiled a little, “It took me longer than I care to remember to realize she was referring to my character and how I conduct myself more than the mud on my shoes.” He took a deep breath, filling his nose with the aromas of lavender and lemon, “It reminds me -” The two Couslands turned around when they heard running footsteps coming their way. Identical expressions of amused disbelief crossed their faces as Alistair caught up to Jannasilane and slung her over his shoulder and swatted her firmly on her bottom. “Time for a spanking, Alistair?” Blake’s tongue was firmly in his cheek.

 

The templar snarled, “Foolish woman was at the top of a ladder cleaning walls until a certain mabari knocked it over and sent her flying.” He stalked off without waiting for an answer, the love of his life squirming in his unloverlike embrace. Their bedroom door slammed behind him.

 

Fergus grabbed Blake by the arm and hurried down the stairs until they were out of earshot and then he started howling with laughter. “Poor Alistair,” he gasped when he could speak at all, “all this time he’s been waiting for her to get well enough . . .” he started laughing again.

 

Blake stared at him, eyebrow lifted, “You mean in all this time they haven’t ‘bucked the bronto?’ Oghren’s words,” he added quickly.

 

His brother shook his head, “We’d come in and she was usually taking a nap. She joined us for dinner and he’d watch the clock and his shoulders would slump in disappointment when she yawned and headed back up to bed. Your healer told him to wait until she could stay awake for five consecutive hours. Then he would know she was well enough for all normal activities.”

 

“So Alistair was disappointed day after day, not realizing that Package was tired because she wore herself out while you were gone - Andraste’s chastity belt, that templar self-restraint must be chafing him by now,” Blake chuckled.

 

“Not for much longer, I wager,” Fergus answered with a sly grin.

 

In their room Alistair slid her down in his arms until they were face to face. She was held off the floor by the wall at her back and the hard chest at her front. Lust and anger warred with each other as Alistair wrapped her hair around his hand until it rested at her neck. “I _ought_ to beat you for scaring me like that,” he growled and then his mouth descended on hers, consuming her. She couldn’t move her head if she wanted to. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and embraced the force of his desire. Oh, she’d missed his passion. He tilted her head so he could access her neck and shoulder, biting and kissing in a display of dominance. She was disappointed when he unwrapped his hand only to cry out in exultation when he roughly shoved her robe down in order to ravish her breasts with teeth, lips and tongue. Her response spurred him to literally rip her smalls from her and begin thrusting with one finger, two and finally three until she shouted her release.

 

When she collapsed, boneless, in his arms he moved. Gently he removed her clothing and then his own. Her eyes widened in renewed desire to see him in all his glory and she reached for him only to have him shackle her hands in one of his and hold them above her head, leaving her stretched out for his perusal. He skimmed his other hand above her form, not quite touching the golden skin. He paused when he reached the scars from the Archdemon. Like those on her wrist they would never go away but these were a deep red and would probably never fade. He bent his head down and softly kissed each one from the top of her hip, down her rear and ending mid-thigh. His gentleness brought tears to her eyes, “I want you, my Ali,” she whispered hoarsely and opened to him. She offered him everything.

 

“I love you, Janna,” he said softly. Slowly he entered her until he was completely buried in warm flesh. He fought for control, not wanting to end too quickly after such a long fast. He rolled them over until she was on top and leaning against his strong thighs. Alistair held her there while he slowly moved inside her. His eyes blazed a heated trail as he watched her reactions from parted lips to jutting breasts to quivering belly. Finally he grabbed her hips and began to move as his body craved. The last of his anger and frustration dissolved when he found his release. When she fell against him he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed as if he would never again let her go, “Maker, it’s been a long time,” he said gruffly. He loosened his grip so he could stroke her hair and frame her face in his hands. He stared into those beautiful eyes full of love for him, “Our lives are dangerous enough, Jannalove, you don’t need to take unnecessary risks.”

 

She flushed because she knew he was right. She never should have gone up that tall ladder without somebody else nearby. Her father had drilled that elemental safety precaution in her head when she was younger but in her eagerness she had just barged forward. “I am sorry, my Ali. You were quite right to be angry with me.”

 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he quipped. They lay together, reveling in the nearness of the other and murmuring quietly until hunger eventually drove them to leave.


	74. A Little History, A Bit of Myth

With Blake’s arrival the grim task begun by Fergus and Alistair went much faster. A new Revered Mother and a group of lay sisters and brothers took charge of the Highever Chantry, providing some solace for the survivors. At the bottom of the pile was the Cousland family: Bryce, Eleanor, Oriana and Oren, Elissa, even Nan; they were recognized by their clothes alone. Ser Gilmore and presumably Dairren were nearby. “He was a good man, holding the doors against Howe’s men to give us time to find father,” Blake said quietly.

 

“I’m glad his sacrifice wasn’t for nothing, brother,” Fergus replied. “I believe Bann Loren is dead. I don’t know of any other family. If you don’t mind I’ll write a report Zevran can take back to Her Majesty; one of her people is surely keeping track of the lands.”

 

“Package wants to plant a tree to honor Duncan’s memory,” Blake said after a few minutes. “It’s a Dalish rite, burying their dead and then planting a tree over the remains.”

 

“It’s a nice thought. Maybe I should plant a few laurels here to honor all those who died fighting the betrayer,” Fergus mused.

 

“I think Mother and Father would like that,” Blake agreed. Together they prepared the remains for the ceremony to be held the next morning.

 

Jannasilane was in the study off the library carefully examining books and making lists while in the library servants were busy cleaning all surfaces. Handcarts of books still to be examined waited in the hall. “I think this can be salvaged,” she mumbled to herself and carefully wrote down the title and author on one list before adding it a crate with other volumes needing professional attention. She’d set up three other crates she used to sort the books by their condition. She stood and stretched, she wasn’t used to sitting for so long, _“They said this should keep me out of trouble,”_ she sniffed at the idea. She padded out to the library.

 

“Almost done here, miss, and then them books can go back on the shelves,” one of the men said cheerfully. “This solution of yours really works a treat, on stone and wood. I told my missus about it and she’s going to try it at home. We’ve got three boys and what they bring home sometimes,” he shook his head.

 

“You all have done a wonderful job, Darby, this is truth,” she smiled at all of them. “I am just going to stretch my legs for a bit.” She decided to head to the kitchen first to see if there was anything left from breakfast. She had a yearning for something other than the bread and cheese always available in the dining room. The current, and untrained, kitchen staff had quickly gotten used to the practice of always having something available when a Grey Warden was in the house. Jannasilane was going to miss Zevran and Riordan, even if they were being rather bossy about what she could do.

 

Alistair found her first when she was arranging chairs in front of the library’s fire. He sat down and pulled her into his lap and just held her. “You are unhappy, my Ali,” she held her hands on either side of that handsome face. She loved his new beard and sideburns, especially when they rubbed against her skin.

 

“Not unhappy, exactly,” he said evasively. He sighed and picked up a strand of her hair, idly wrapping it around his finger, “we reached the last of the bodies today and found what’s left of . . . It was bad. Blake and Fergus are talking to the Revered Mother about a ceremony.” He felt helpless but there was nothing he could do at this point but be available should his friends need him.

 

“And I must return to Denerim the following day to make sure security at the Palace is as it should be. Even Anora had to admit that there were few more capable of strengthening security than a former Crow,” Zevran said quietly, startling them. “I would have left sooner but I could not leave my Warden to face such a burden. And of course I needed to make sure he arrived safely.”

 

Alistair and Zevran found several bottles of wine and cajoled Sara from the kitchen to set up the pot of stew and a cold buffet in the library. Somehow neither of them felt like straying too far from the cozy atmosphere Jannasilane had created with lanterns and mismatched chairs. Riordan joined them before the brothers returned. “You have done well, little one,” he looked around appreciatively. “I have always felt a library should be a comfortable, friendly room and not just a place to store books.” He looked soberly at Alistair, “Soon we need to talk. I have some questions which need to be answered before I leave in a few days. I have been here longer than I planned, and have no regrets but they are waiting for me in Jader to make my report. Warden-Commander Nalia has been a good leader and a good friend; I owe it to her to make my request for transfer in person.” He was looking forward to the challenge of setting up a training program for new recruits at Soldier’s Peak and hopefully plunder the ancient library for forgotten pieces of Grey Warden lore.

 

Blake and Fergus finally joined them. Blake looked around the room as he had done each time he entered a new room, looking for ghosts or signs of battle but Jannasilane had done her work well. The new arrangement helped make it easier to push those images away. Fergus went straight for the wine and gulped down a glass before refilling it and slumping down in one of the empty chairs. “The Revered Mother is making the final arrangements for a ceremony tomorrow morning so we can say our last goodbye,” he informed the others. Nugflutter whined at his feet and, almost absent-mindedly, he picked up the little bundle of fur. The little pup was as intuitive as its mistress and licked his face before curling into him. Fergus found stroking him oddly comforting and said nothing for a few minutes. “It will be early, so I don’t expect any of you to come. I’ve given the staff the day off so they can remember their loved ones in their own way.”

 

“We’ll be there,” Alistair said.

 

Blake smiled from where he prowled restlessly among the shelves; he knew his friend never even thought of not attending.  He didn’t really want to talk about his family, not just then. He finally chose a chair next to Zevran and contemplated his brother, “Nugflutter seems right at home in your arms, brother, maybe you should think of getting one.”

 

“Considering the way your mabari runs away from him that might not be a good idea. I do plan on rebuilding the kennels for breeding again,” Fergus smiled tiredly. It was a constant source of wonder and amusement to him that just seeing the tiny Nugflutter made the large mabari run, even if it was mostly a game to them. “Will you be returning to Denerim soon?”

 

Blake shook his head, “Not until I have to leave for the wedding. Eamon is remaining to advise Anora and keep an eye on things for me. Though that might be as much because of Isolde as anything, she does not want to remain in Redcliffe. Probably wise, under the circumstances,” he added. Zevran snorted disparagingly at the mention of the foolish Orlesian.

 

“He is certainly taking the fact of your marrying Anora instead of me much better than I expected after all the talk of Calenhad’s line remaining on the throne,” Alistair mused.

 

“Arl Eamon is a wily old man and a pragmatist,” Zevran shrugged elegantly. “He does not wish to lose influence and Alistair was more important as a rallying figure than as the actual handsome ass on the throne. No offense, oh magnificent Hero.”

 

Alistair frowned, “I’m not sure how to take that.” There were some chuckles and the Cousland brothers exchanged quick looks of secret knowledge which were not missed by their companions. “Something you two know and wish to share?”

 

“Know might be an overstatement. There are some family rumors which have persisted for generations but no documentation to support them,” Blake teased.

 

Fergus took over, if left to his brother they might be up all night, “You all probably recall from your history lessons that Calenhad was from Highever and did battle with Teyrna Elethea Cousland during his effort to unite the Alamarri tribes into one nation. History also says that after she lost and swore fealty to him he allowed her to retain her lands and title, that he was more interested in unification than revenge. And probably that is all to the story,” he paused to take a sip of wine and gauge the interest of his listeners. Satisfied with their attention he continued, “However, you may not know she was a beautiful woman of an age with Calenhad. Her husband, also a Cousland and a distant cousin was much older than she and not a well man. And they had no heirs as of yet.”

 

“I like where this is going,” Zevran purred. “Royal scandals are the most fun.”

 

“It is the first I’ve heard of this, but it is probably not discussed outside the family,” Riordan tried to remember everything he’d been told of the Couslands but couldn’t recall much from before the Orlesian Occupation.

 

“If you like rumors and innuendo you’ll appreciate the rumor that Elethea’s father arranged for Calenhad to be sent to Ser Forannan because he felt the friendship between his young daughter and the merchant’s young son was unsuitably close. It was a bond which grew during visits between the families, infrequent though they may have been. Here the rumors diverge; some say the marriage was forced because Elethea was with child. Her father died and when Calenhad triumphed over Highever she told him of their child, a child who was heir to the Teyrnir.”

 

“Wait, what about records? I thought you said she and her husband had no heirs,” Alistair interrupted, fascinated by the story but unwilling to overlook the facts.

 

Blake shrugged, “I think there was a fire. Accidents happen, sometimes records have to be recreated and if some dates get changed as a result . . .”

 

“I think the other rumors, the majority, are more likely - that when they met as adults on the battlefield they renewed their childhood friendship on a more intimate level,” Fergus asserted. “Calenhad did not leave immediately and they spoke privately about the terms of her ‘surrender.’ Did she use the possibility of a child as leverage to keep her lands? If you believe the records a child was born less than a year after Calenhad stormed Highever and her husband never sired another child. Perhaps, Alistair, we are distant relatives,” Fergus suggested with a sly smile.

 

“Huh,” Alistair thought about it and grinned, “works for me.”

 

“Then, _cousin_ , I think I shall retire for the evening. Goodnight everyone. Package, you have done wonders for my home and are welcome at any time, do not let Alistair tire you overmuch,” he teased.

 

The younger Cousland watched his brother leave but wasn’t ready to follow suit, “Since we’re talking ancient history I have a question of my own for you, Package. Why did your family leave the Anderfels?” he asked out of idle curiosity and was just as surprised as the other by her reaction.

 

Jannasilane tensed and got up to pour herself more wine. As Fergus had done earlier she gulped it down before answering, “We didn’t _leave_. We _escaped_ ,” she declared before picking up the sleeping Nugflutter and sitting in the chair vacated by Fergus. She brought her feet up and curled into herself, nuzzling her little dog to calm herself. She looked at the four men watching her with concern but couldn’t help feeling a brief antipathy to all of them, even her beloved Ali. She sighed; she knew it was unfair and that they weren’t to blame for what was done generations before she was born. She didn’t speak right away, “You have to realize that a project such as the Griffon Group’s cannot be done quickly. It would be decades before they knew if they were successful and there were many failed beginnings. And many Firsts commanded the Wardens after the project was created. Generally a First Warden doesn’t hold the office more than a handful of years. After more than a century perhaps they forgot the purpose.”

 

She looked at them sadly, “Nobody knew how to guide the Griffonsong into shifting, or realized the obstacles put in place. I reread my mother’s journal and have thought on this much since I woke from my injuries. I did not have much I could do without becoming over-tired,” she smiled crookedly. “From what I can decipher prior to my mother’s handwriting the Wardens and the Griffon Group eventually gave up on the possibility of any Griffonsong actually being able to turn.”

 

“Their mistake, beautiful Pocket Goddess,” Zevran smiled.

 

“Yes,” she sighed. “My grandmothers of several greats write of the Griffonsong not being allowed to leave.” In her mind she could see the pages of her mother’s journal, now hers; entries burned into her memory.

 

_More recruits volunteered for the project, but none survived. The griffons become fewer and fewer and still the First will not allow us out of the ancient fort. More Wardens know of our presence because we Need them. It is disturbing. I fear what will become of us; there are only three ways out. Either through the narrow canyon connecting the old fortress to Weisshaupt and all the Wardens, up the sheer walls of the cliff behind us, and death. –Sylvie_

_Sometimes I think Andraste was fortunate to be burned. I don’t know what he told them but dwarves were hired to build a door to keep us here. The First appointed a Gatekeeper. Since we haven’t turned into griffons he’s determined to breed us to bolster the ranks of the Wardens. What will we do? Most of our children are Griffonsong like us. Only a new First can change the situation, for good or ill. –Charlton_

“A door was built to lock the Griffonsong into their compound and a Gatekeeper assigned. After the shape-shifting aspect of the project was deemed a failure the focus became breeding a ‘natural Warden. Even this was not very successful; most of the children born were Griffonsong or ‘neutrals.’ The neutrals were removed before their first year.”

_We lose more children each year. If they are not Griffonsong they are quickly taken away. Rumors say they are sold to Tevinter, others that they are fostered until they are minimally old enough to be conscripted. I hope it is the latter and they are transferred away from here so they can enjoy more freedom than we ever have. How often I wish we did not enjoy our enhanced stamina and health – the pawings and brutal matings with those who can force our bodies to respond in pleasure simply by virtue of bribing the Gatekeeper into keeping us locked up until the Need claws us. Not all Wardens are like that but it doesn’t take many to turn our lives into hell. Poor, gentle Brianna . . . something was wrong with her birth and her mind never developed as it should. What demon escaped the Fade long enough to give her a body all desire? As punishment for spilling coffee on his new shirt the Gatekeeper locked her up until she began to claw herself with Need and then he gave her to three of the basest Wardens I have ever seen. I can still hear her cries of forced pleasure mixed with screams of pain. Her mind is broken and she has to be commanded to eat. Perhaps her madness is a blessing . . . –Tylaa._

“The Gatekeepers had much power over the Griffonsong. Their existence was still not announced to all Grey Wardens though I am sure there were rumors. Some Wardens had to service the Needs of the Griffonsong, after all. Some of the stories . . . when we were imprisoned . . . the abuses I suffered seem trivial in comparison. At least in Fort Drakon my own body was not turned against me until I begged for every obscene touch,” she shivered and hugged Nugflutter even tighter.

 

“Braska,” Zevran whispered, echoing the horror all four men felt at the story being told. He and perhaps Riordan were not completely surprised; they were worldly enough to have seen how power and secrecy can lead to abuse and corruption. _“Some would say that is the basis of Antiva rule,”_ he thought cynically. The Crow guild masters and his own training crossed his mind, _“They may even be not so far wrong.”_ Jannasilane ignored them, too caught up in past to notice she was shivering in the present.

 

_I remember when this First first took command. We were not allowed to be locked up. A few of us were even allowed to leave in the company of other Wardens. It’s easy to forget in here that Thedas is so big and has so much to offer. One of the younger Wardens is from Ferelden; he says they were kicked out by the king. Is it treason to wish such a thing would happen here? But of course in the Anderfels it is the First and not the King who holds the power. I think I would like to see Ferelden._

_But things change. This one has been First for longer than the others. He is very strong-willed, could the taint be driving him mad and only we can see it? Our situation is worse than ever. We are each confined to a small room with a narrow bed. The fortunate among us have a chair. Wardens come in and couple with the Griffonsong of their choice. The one from Ferelden seems to have a connection with one of us but they are smart enough to hide it. He doesn’t always choose her for her own safety. The First is paranoid about a bond forming between Warden and Griffonsong; he uses our own bodies against us, turning us into whores and Warden Broodmothers. The Gatekeeper is our jailor, our pimp and our punisher. –Rayleen._

_The Fereldan did it! I refuse to demean him by calling him a Warden. He must have been working for months, secreting rope ladders at the top of the cliff and gathering supplies. I don’t know how he managed to create a rock slide but it will be weeks before the Wardens can dig through the canyon. It was a pleasure to slit the Gatekeeper’s throat. Some of us were too weak or too scared to climb the ropes but each of them cheered us on. The Fereldan provided them with poison if they preferred that sort of escape. I wish Rayleen were alive to see us climbing those ladders. –Carovie_

_Ferelden at last! Ancient forests, mountains, cities, farmland and unexplored wilds . . . I wish more of us survived to see it. I hope those of us who separated to travel through Antiva and elsewhere had better success. Some of us died at the hands of bandits and darkspawn. Then there were the accidents which we might have survived if we had a healer amongst us. We did not travel as quickly as I hoped, (caged animals do not have the endurance of trained hunters) and the Grey Wardens tracking us finally drew near in Orlais. My child will be born here in this young nation, but I know I will not last long past his or her birth. My sisters and brothers will take care of them just as we have always done. I ask only one thing: remember to honor the sacrifices of Jannara the Griffonsong and Alexander Lane, the Fereldan. They died fighting the Grey Wardens so that the rest of us could escape. May the Maker and Andraste receive them and give them the peace and blessings life on Thedas denied them. –Carovie_

 

“The Griffonsong escaped with the help of the Fereldan. He was a Grey Warden but ‘Warden’ was a vile epithet my ancestor refused to ascribe to him. Ferelden was their ultimate destination; thanks to Arland it was seen as the best place to find new lives. As long as they had Griffonsong near then the Need could be mostly satisfied. They travelled through many different nations. Only a few made it to Ferelden; some died, some were captured, and some elected to stay in Nevarra, Antiva and other places. Many were hunted down and either killed or returned. My understanding is that only a small handful had any journals or records, my mother’s great-great-great-grandmother was one though that may be the wrong number of greats. My mother thought it possible that very few even remember their heritage. My stepfather’s family was another who survived and remembered. Somewhere in Orlais the Fereldan and one of the Griffonsong sacrificed themselves battling the pursuing Grey Wardens to allow the remaining few time to get away. Their names were Alexander Lane and Jannara,” during the telling Jannasilane had pushed as far back in the chair as she could.

 

“The Maker have mercy on them for I can find none,” Riordan said quietly. “I have been to Weisshaupt and it is cold place, the Wardens there harsh and severe. I think I know where they would have been held but it is long unused. Supposedly a rockslide destroyed it and there was no reason to rebuild, and those who are there may believe it for I sensed no deceit.” He was concerned, the archives at Weisshaupt were vast and there was little doubt in his mind that there were some sorts of records, probably encrypted and sealed, but not destroyed. “I will make sure my report mentions nothing of you and your unique abilities.”

 

Alistair said nothing, just moved to kneel in front of her chair. He didn’t think she even realized she was shaking. “I am sorry, my Ali, I know you would like to visit the home of the Grey Wardens but I can’t go. I never liked that part of our history and now that I know how bad the Need can be . . . I am afraid. What if they figure out what I am? I will kill myself and hope the Maker forgives me before I allow them to turn me into their creature.” She wrapped herself around him, struck by remembered and anticipated terror.

 

“Don’t worry, my love, I’ll never ask you to. I have no desire to see where your ancestors were held and tortured, for that’s what it amounts to,” he continued holding and stroking her, sick inside. “None of us will say anything.” His realization that the Order of the Grey had the capability to be so dishonorable shook him. He had a lot of thinking to do, but that could wait. Right now his Janna needed him.

 

“I’m sorry I asked, Package. I didn’t want to think about my family but never at your expense,” Blake apologized, almost as shaken as she was. “Your ancestors should have been honored, not enslaved. You risked a lot more than I realized to help us.”

 

Jannasilane shook her head at him, “It was my duty as much as yours. Perhaps I overreact. This is not your fault; I think I am just tired.” She didn’t protest when Alistair picked her up and carried her off. Right then she wanted to be with _her_ Warden.

 

The three men by the fire watched them leave. When she was out of earshot Riordan spoke, “Alessandra and Jannasilane, names to remember those who sacrificed themselves so others might live. The little one lives up to that honor.”

 

“That she does,” Blake smiled. His smile faded and he stared at the older Grey Warden, “Riordan, I don’t know if you’ve heard them or not but there are rumors about Fort Drakon, that some beast attacked the Archdemon in the sky. You may be asked about them.”

 

“I have a suggestion, my dear Wardesty,” Zevran loved to tease Blake with the title as much as Alistair did. “Why do we not use the absent Morrigan, should these questions be asked? A talented apostate assisted you, one schooled in old and forgotten arts. Add that she was a skilled illusionist and let them draw their own conclusions. None of us were with her and in the chaos of battle who is to say the lovely Morrigan did not turn herself into a giant bird or some such creature.” He gave an elegant shrug after proffering his suggestion.

 

“I don’t know why Alistair calls _me_ devious,” Blake smiled wickedly at his lover. “That works for me. I pity the fool who tries to track down Morrigan for answers.” Even Riordan had to laugh at that. His brief knowledge of the witch was enough to know the Warden was correct.


	75. Greetings, Warden-Commander

“I’m going to miss having you around, you big Hero,” Blake teased Alistair. Riordan was due back any day now and then the other Wardens and Package were leaving for Soldier’s Peak. “It’s going to be a lot quieter around here. Do you think the information you gave Riordan will be enough to satisfy the First?” ~~~~

 

“I don’t know,” Alistair rubbed his chest, something he was wont to do whenever he thought of that last battle. “It does give the Order new information.” He thought of the interrogation by Riordan before the older man left for Jader.

 

_Riordan cornered him in the Teyrn’s study and locked the door, “Alistair, it is time we discussed why you are still alive.”_

_Alistair gulped, “I, I don’t know.” He frowned, ‘and that’s true enough. I’m certainly not going to tell him Morrigan was trying to have an old god baby,’ he thought. He looked at Riordan in alarm, “The Archdemon is dead, isn’t it? I don’t sense it anymore.”_

_“No, no, the Archdemon is gone. None have reported anything to make us think otherwise. But,” Riordan continued, “none of us know how it is you have survived. Tell me everything,” he demanded._

_“On that rooftop I went berserk after I saw what happened to Janna,” both men winced, recalling the injuries she received after the Archdemon singled her out for its attention. “I was so full of rage and hate I couldn’t think of anything else but killing it. Even burying my sword in its skull didn’t ease my anger; I didn’t care if I lived or died. Archie wasn’t too happy either. I could feel its presence inside me, trying to tear into my mind, my spirit, even my soul. I was being shredded from the inside and there was nothing I could do. The agony, it’s hard to explain,” he looked at Riordan to see if he understood._

_The other man was frowning in concentration but gestured him to go on so Alistair took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing, “I don’t know what Blake has already told you but I think I know why the Archdemon came to Ferelden. It can see through the eyes of the darkspawn and it can share what it sees with others. It read my mind, or my emotions, and gave me pictures of all the injuries being inflicted on Janna as if I were seeing her through the eyes of the darkspawn slicing her. I could see what the Archdemon saw when it threw her against the wall. I saw the ogre killing Duncan and Cailan as well as the darkspawn hoisting Cailan’s body up where that statue used to be. The weirdest images are when the darkspawn attacked us after we lit the beacon of Ishal and the spears and arrows thrown at Blake and me.”_

_“Maker’s breath,” Riordan paled. “That is quite a vicious tool at its disposal. The Wardens at Weisshaupt will be interested in this ability to see. It makes a mockery of the most sophisticated spy organization anywhere in Thedas. And to be able to plant images into the mind of another . . . although this may be something it can only do in close contact with a non-darkspawn. The darkspawn are preconditioned to seek it out, they yearn for contact and perhaps this predisposition makes it possible to share information with the more intelligent among them even from a distance. This is something to consider.” He fell silent, thinking of all the implications to this new information._

_“There is something else,” Alistair offered tentatively. “I can’t swear to it but I thought I sensed two entities, the Archdemon_ and _Urthemiel. Or maybe a remnant of Urthemiel uncorrupted by the darkspawn taint? Two minds or two sides of the same entity? It was . . . odd, definitely odd. And I may have imagined it, I don’t know.”_

_Riordan opened his mouth to say something and then closed it instead. He stared at Alistair, frowning and thinking. “There are many Grey Wardens who could ‘hear’ the Archdemon and have never reported such a possibility, at least as far as I know. You say you are unsure yourself?” Alistair shrugged. “Then I think I will not include this in my report as even you cannot say it is fact. However I think you should write your own account including this feeling of two entities and reasons why you may have sensed it at all. Nebulous as your feeling is it might give some of the scholars at Weisshaupt a new avenue to explore. I suggest you also detail your background before becoming a Grey Warden and any unusual events which have happened. The issue of you still being alive needs to be addressed and you must be prepared for questions, Alistair. Personally, I am glad you and the little one can enjoy a life together but I will not lie. Your survival is . . . troubling.”_

“I’ve made some notes but I thought I would wait until we’re at Soldier’s Peak before I write my own account. I want to make sure I don’t contradict anything he’s already told them but I still feel that my time here has been better spent with your brother, learning how a Teyrn is governed or administered. You know what surprises me?” he asked, almost rhetorically.

 

“You find him attractive and are ready to hop borders, leaving Zevran and me crushed that all our efforts were for nothing,” Blake teased.

 

“Ha ha, you are so funny your Wardesty. I will sorely miss your witty repartee when we leave,” Alistair rolled his eyes. “But seriously, I enjoy what I’ve learned so far from Fergus: balancing the variety of needs against the resources available, planning a course of action, talking to the people who live here, even the bookkeeping. Something about entering items into the ledger and adding up the numbers, I dunno, I find it relaxing and even helps me think.”

 

Blake grinned, “Then it’s a good thing you’re the one staying with the Wardens; I’m sure the new Warden-Commander will be glad you’re not just a pretty face with a strong arm.”

 

“ _I’m_ sure rebuilding and governing the country with Anora will be nothing but bonbons and endless revelry,” Alistair replied drily.

 

Riordan arrived that afternoon so dinner was a more festive affair. “Friends,” Riordan lifted a glass, “it is good to be back in Ferelden and my presence here tonight is proof that I am permanently reassigned to the land of my birth. I look forward to renewing ties with the family and friends of my youth and to helping the new Commander of the Grey rebuild the Order. To Alistair, the new Warden-Commander of Ferelden.” Everybody but Alistair lifted their glasses in approval.

 

“But, but I thought somebody more senior, maybe you . . . more experience,” to the amusement of his friends Alistair was flustered and not quite coherent. He took a deep breath and let it out, “I will endeavor to live up to the expectations and responsibilities entrusted to me. Maker!” he blinked and drank deeply from his goblet.

 

“You’ll do fine, Alistair. Duncan had confidence in you. He and Commander Nalia frequently exchanged information and she shared some of his correspondence with me. He thought you had great potential as a leader and administrator once you gained your confidence as a Grey Warden. He anticipated that you would be Constable within five years. From what I have seen he is correct. You are also Fereldan and the Hero, which will make you much more acceptable to your countrymen than another might be. I will assist you any way I can in the time left to me, my friend,” Riordan smiled at his new Commander.

 

Fergus added with a guileless expression, “The Lady Package will be a great aide to you, I’m sure. My brother has been teaching her the finer points of being a chatelaine.”

 

“He is still much better at batting his eyelashes than I am,” Jannasilane pretended to pout. The others all laughed, Blake most of all.

 

“To the Warden-Commander and his lady,” Fergus toasted. One of the servants who’d survived Howe’s betrayal smiled to once again hear honest laughter within the old walls.

 

Just a few days later the carriage rolled away from Castle Cousland with Jannasilane leaning out the window waving back at the Cousland brothers. Finally Alistair pulled her back, “I don’t want you falling out the window, my love, and attractive as your backside is I prefer to see your face.”

 

Riordan chuckled at her outraged expression, “I have to agree with the Commander, this side of you is far more charming.”

 

Jannasilane sighed, “It seems so strange to be traveling in a carriage and most of our friends scattered. Blake and Zevran will be in Denerim but with much to occupy them. Leliana will be gone after the wedding and coronation,” her voice trailed off.

 

“A year ago we hardly knew each other. You hadn’t been with us a month and I was going crazy with desire and doubt,” Alistair placed his arm around her and played with her hair. “I like this side of the year much better. I know what you mean, though, it doesn’t quite seem real to wake up in a bed or travel in a carriage instead of being surrounded by others at a camp site making fun of my cooking or listening to one of Leliana’s stories. Don’t tell him but it even seems weird to not hear Zev trying to get me to ‘hop borders’ or make me blush.”

 

“For a year you traveled in a cocoon of intensity, a shared goal between you, and now you emerge to assume your own lives. It will take time to get used to a more regular life if not a normal one,” Riordan offered his insights.

 

“I suppose Grey Wardens never have ‘normal’ lives,” Alistair mused. “When I was young that’s all I wanted, with a family to call my own. Now I can’t imagine living any other way. In a strange way the Blight gave me everything I could desire. I have good friends, an honorable career with a worthy purpose, even a family of sorts. Most important of all a woman I love who actually loves me in return. What I wanted as a child seems so, so bland compared to what I have now. I should really thank the Maker more often,” he finished.

 

Riordan chuckled, “You probably should, _Commander_ ,” he teased the younger man. “Perhaps some or all of those things would have happened anyway. Ferelden did not have enough Wardens even without a Blight. Now you have a different type of challenge ahead, you and the little one.”

 

Jannasilane smiled and shook her head, “Don’t forget that you are part of that now, my Riordan. Zevran frequently says that Fate is a tricky whore. Sometimes I thought he might be speaking of a brothel worker whose name was Fate.” The others laughed, because they had indeed heard the Antivan say that phrase many times. They discussed plans for Soldier’s Peak and exchanged ideas about Amaranthine.

 

Alistair decided that since some senior Wardens were already on their way to Amaranthine before he was promoted he would let them settle in. He and Riordan estimated that the word of Anora’s boon should have spread to the entire Arling by the time they arrived. “Let them deal with cleaning up some of Howe’s mess,” Alistair muttered. “The Drydens are merchants which means they travel pretty regularly. I wonder if they’ll be willing to handle communications for us until we have something permanently in place.” By the time they arrived at Soldier’s Peak two days later they had a rough plan of action.


	76. So Many Things To Do

“Do I have any money? Or perhaps I should say does the Warden-Commander have any money?”

 

“What are you thinking, my Ali?”

 

He didn’t answer her directly, “In Orlais and elsewhere the Wardens have an office, a compound, some sort of presence in every major city, right?” He gave Riordan the opportunity to correct him before continuing, “I know we used to have a compound at the Palace, but now that the Wardens have an Arling it might be more, um, circumspect to have our own separate place in Denerim. I don’t want anybody to think the Grey Wardens are seeking to turn Ferelden into another Anderfels.”

 

Jannasilane decided she found this thoughtful, planning side of her Alistair quite sexy and watched and listened quietly. “Soon after we complete our assessment here I should go to Denerim. I want, if we have the money, to purchase one large or a few small buildings between the Alienage and the market district, where all races can feel welcomed. Maybe have a small barracks for them to stay while we do an initial assessment of their abilities and hopefully identify troublemakers before they can cause problems. Sure, we say they leave their old lives behind and are now brothers but let’s be honest, prejudices aren’t going to die just because somebody is now a Warden. I honestly don’t think we can afford at this stage to recruit somebody who radically hates mages, elves, dwarves or humans. We’ll tear ourselves apart before we even start. We’re not facing a Blight anymore to put things in perspective for people.

 

I think I prefer all or at least most Joinings be done here and that the newly minted Wardens stay to train, to learn and get used to being a Warden, maybe for a month or two. Recruits are hardly likely to find their way to the Peak on their own, and I want it to remain as private as possible. We have Amaranthine for the public face of the Wardens. Moreover, I don’t want to put anybody through the Joining under the age of 25 if I can avoid it. Certainly I want them to be at least in their twenties.”

 

Riordan regarded the young Warden-Commander. “You have given this a lot of thought, do you think you were too young, Alistair?” his expression gave away nothing.

 

“My case was a bit different; the Archdemon was hardly going to wait. And I had to be conscripted away from the templars. Daveth and Ser Jory were both older than me, one with a new family. If it weren’t for my Janna I probably wouldn’t have that chance,” he reached for her hand and held it. “I remember Blake’s face when I told him about dying and not living to old age. Maybe it’s selfish, but I want to know they’ve had a chance to live before I tell anybody that again. Some of the Wardens at Ostagar were older when they were recruited and they seemed more settled in their role. One luxury I have, if that’s really the right term, is that the Arling will need its own soldiers and guards separate from the Grey Wardens,” Alistair answered strongly.

 

“Those are good points, as long as it is a guideline you do not allow to dictate your actions. Sometimes those years can temper hot heads. On the other hand, families are not generally encouraged for Wardens because of conflicting loyalties,” Riordan warned him.

 

“If it’s a mistake it’s one I’d rather make than not try at all. A soldier for the Arling is still serving the Grey Wardens,” the former templar sighed and sat back. “Later I want to talk to you about the Joinings you witnessed.”

 

Riordan smiled to himself, he was well satisfied with Alistair’s response. He didn’t know if he agreed but the new Commander was taking his responsibility seriously and giving a great deal of thought to his decisions. He acknowledged to himself that Alistair was right; his position was unique in that he was not just in charge of the Grey Wardens but an Arling which had its own needs and priorities. “You should have enough money if you start your Denerim venture on a small scale. Until you see the state of the Arling I would be leery of committing too many funds. Remember, Howe was in charge. Then once you are settled in Amaranthine you can progress.”

 

“This is truth. Talk to Anora, my Ali. You will need to call upon her as a formality and you can ask her for suggestions,” Jannasilane pursed her lips thoughtfully, having no idea that seeing her do so filled Alistair’s head with other more pleasurable ideas. “You might as well start building friendly relations with her sooner than later.”

 

“Then I’ll have to bring you with me, she likes _you_ ,” Alistair half-teased. “You’re both right, I’m letting my enthusiasm get ahead of me. I’ll still go to Denerim and talk to Sergeant Kylon and Hahren Valendrian in the Alienage. When we go back to Denerim for the wedding hopefully we’ll have some potential recruits lined up.”

 

Alistair tried not to fidget while he waited to be conducted to Anora. Maker, he hated just sitting around doing nothing. He wondered if he should have sent word he was coming but couldn’t worry about it now. He filed it away in his head as one of the many things to ask Riordan or Fergus later. _“I bet if Janna were with me I’d see the queen faster,”_ he grumbled to himself but was careful to keep his face as blank as possible. _“Is it wrong to be wearing my unofficial Warden clothes? They fit better and certainly identify me clearly enough if the reaction of the people is any indication. Maybe I’ll just consider them the ‘Hero of Ferelden’ version of Grey Warden armor. Maker, what a title. I should probably see a tailor as soon as I leave here. Jannasilane gave me strict orders to get something suitable for Blake’s wedding.”_

He continued mentally evaluating and reorganizing his list of things to do while he waited. Finally the seneschal himself came to retrieve him. He saluted Alistair with a bow, “Her Majesty is ready to see you now, my lord, if you will follow me.” If he was amused by Alistair’s surprise at the way he was addressed he hid it well. “She is waiting for you in the small salon.”

 

Alistair quickly if not gracefully got to his feet and followed the older man walking briskly away. “It’s good to see Denerim and the Palace so far along in their rebuilding. You and the people working with you should feel really proud of your efforts, it looks amazing.”

 

The old seneschal blinked. It was the first time anyone outside the royal family, noble or otherwise, had ever complimented the staff. He unbent a little, “Thank you, my lord. That is most kind of you. If you will indulge me, how fares the young lady Jannasilane?”

 

The smile lighting up Alistair’s face was answer enough, “She’s perfect and fully recovered, certainly enough to start bossing me around. I’ll tell her you were asking about her, she’ll be happy you remembered her, er, um, I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name at the moment.”

 

“Fenton, sir, thank you. You are most kind,” he bowed once again. He entered a nice-sized room with a view of the gardens where Anora was waiting, “The Commander of the Grey of Ferelden, Your Majesty,” he announced and stepped back with a bow, discreetly gesturing Alistair to move forward.

 

Alistair carefully bowed as Riordan taught him; deep enough to show respect without being subservient. “Greetings, Your Majesty, it is a pleasure to see you.” He straightened and tried very hard not to look at the food spread out on the table next to Anora.

 

Once again she was besieged with conflicting emotions when she saw him, _“I look at him and see my father’s murderer; I blink and there’s Cailan; I blink again and see Maric. Which is closest to the real Alistair?”_ Anora toyed with the idea of making him stand and watch her eat but he was a good friend to her husband-to-be and by her own decisions a powerful noble. “Congratulations, Commander. Please join me. Arl Eamon will be here soon, we find afternoon tea to be the best time to discuss matters and it allows each of us a small break from our many duties.”

 

“Thank you, Your Majesty, Grey Wardens can be worse than General Lee around food,” he commented with a grin.

 

She couldn’t help relaxing a bit at his candor. She watched him fill a plate and marveled once again at how much one person could eat. “How is Jannasilane? I trust she is fully recovered from her injuries. I admit I was hoping to see her.”

 

“She is as healthy as ever, thank the Maker, and helping Riordan get Soldier’s Peak ready for the first round of recruits. We should be ready to get one group of recruits embarked on their Grey Warden education and training before Janna and I head to Amaranthine. The Orlesian Wardens should be there already and can handle things until I arrive. And she made me promise to get new clothes for your wedding,” he couldn’t help the hint of a grumble at the thought of seeing a tailor.

 

“Well, now I know the best ways to torture you,” Anora said drily, “Don’t allow you to eat and make sure you have to get _suitable_ clothes.” She smiled slightly to see him squirm. “I will deny it if you ever repeat this but there are days when I wish I could just throw on some leathers and avoid my wardrobe completely.”

 

Alistair blinked, “But, you always look so effortlessly perfect. Janna wishes she could do half so well.”

 

“Now that’s as pleasing a sop to a woman’s vanity as one could hope for. I have had help and a lot of practice; Jannasilane will do just fine. If you truly wish to thank me, Alistair, tell me what you found at Highever. Zevran told me it was grim but wouldn’t go into any details,” she politely commanded.

 

The blond warrior put down the food he was holding and looked soberly at the elegant woman in front of him, “Are you really sure you wish to know, Your Majesty? It was bad, very bad.”

 

“Cailan and I were both quite fond of Fergus, though of course we saw less of him after he married. In fact, as much as a prince or king can have a best friend I would say for Cailan that was Fergus. I do not wish to inadvertently distress either him or Blake, my intended if you’ll recall, with an unfortunate reference.”

 

“Right. Well. First let me tell you what I know of that night so you’ll have the background,” he spoke quietly and watched Anora closely. She couldn’t help turning pale but he had to give her credit, she didn’t once allow him to gloss over anything. “. . . and the Couslands were at the bottom of the pile. Blake arrived before we reached them. If it weren’t for my Janna I don’t know if the castle would be habitable yet. Maker strike me down if I ever become as despicable as that . . . that Howe.”

 

Anora stared into the cup of tea on the table in front of her. She needed a minute until she was sure her hand wouldn’t shake before she dared pick it up. “How awful, how utterly horrible that any needed to deal with such an outrage. I am glad, Alistair, that you were with Fergus. I can’t begin to imagine how terrible it would have been if he were alone and greeted with that horror.” She looked him straight in the eyes, “Thank you for telling me. I have seen low behavior in the guise of political maneuvering but that man’s vileness, well, I don’t think there are words.” Neither said anything more until Eamon arrived.

 

“Your Majesty,” the Arl bowed before turning to her companion. He was adept at covering his surprise, though with his political network Alistair would be surprised if he didn’t know to the second how long he’d been in Denerim and where, “Alistair, it is good to see you, my boy, or should I say Warden-Commander. Congratulations, I have every confidence you will do well. What brings you to Denerim? Is your young lady with you? I didn’t expect to see you again until the wedding. If you haven’t made other arrangements you are more than welcome to stay with me. Isolde returned to Redcliffe to retrieve some of her belongs and will return with Connor in a week’s time, leaving me to my own devices,” he was uncommonly garrulous, allowing the somberness to fade from the other two.

 

“The Lady Jannasilane decided he needed new clothes,” Anora said mildly, though the twinkle in her eyes and sly smile gave notice to the two men she was teasing.

 

“The wedding should be about you, not this Hero of Ferelden guy,” Alistair couldn’t help flushing just a little. “I can put on Warden-Commander stuff for afterward. And I should probably have some non-Wardeny clothes, anyway,” this time he didn’t bother to hide his grumbling, causing both Anora and Eamon to chuckle outright. “However,” Alistair straightened, “that’s not my primary purpose; I’m in Denerim on Grey Warden business and I thought it only right that since this is the first time I’ve been here as Warden-Commander I call on Your Majesty and pay my respects.”

 

“Is it some great secret or can you tell us the nature of this business?” Anora was prepared for some sort of request; most people didn’t mention any business unless they wanted something.

 

“Actually, Janna said you might have some advice for me,” he explained his desire for a new Denerim location for the Wardens. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful the Wardens have Amaranthine, but Denerim is the capital and everybody knows how to get here. Maybe a lot of potential recruits will just ‘show up at the door’ but it’s not likely. I’d like to have a place here to send them and then take one larger group away rather than have a trail of recruits following behind. They’re not always diplomatic,” he smiled a little, remembering how Duncan used to lecture him.

 

“There _have_ been some grumblings about the Wardens being given Amaranthine though I don’t think any really want to clean up the mess Howe undoubtedly left behind. Perhaps some information on the state of Highever should be allowed to percolate through the Bannorn. That should quiet them for now; I sincerely doubt any would want their families to face anything similar.”

 

“There’s also what he did here in the Arl of Denerim’s estate, Your Majesty,” Eamon quietly reminded them. “Perhaps the sad state of affairs can be expounded upon and the condition of Highever can be quietly used to substantiate the claims of misuse. It is going to take a clever man, and a dedicated one, to undo the harm that man did to the Arling in such a short time.”

 

“Ha, bet Bann Sighard would like a chance to tear out that dungeon,” Alistair muttered sotto voce.

 

If Anora heard him she ignored him, “That’s settled, then. Arl Eamon, you should be able to gather a list of properties Alistair might find suitable by the end of the day tomorrow, should you not?” She directed a sharp glance at the older man, knowing it wasn’t exactly his duty but quite sure he would be able to put together the information discreetly.

 

Arl Eamon didn’t disappoint her, “Yes, Your Majesty. I think it best we do not advertise the purpose or Alistair might find himself spending more coin than he would like.”

 

“I have a suggestion for you, Alistair, since you wish my advice. I’m sure there are a number of properties easily accessible from the docks as well as the market and the Alienage which are virtually derelict. Such properties are bound to be cheaper and you can use your potential recruits to help rebuild to your specifications. This may provide you or your agent with useful information as to their character.”

 

Alistair slowly nodded his head as he thought it over, “And other abilities they may have. It’ll be good to have Wardens who are also blacksmiths, armorers and the like. If I find I can’t use them then at the very least they’ll get paid for their efforts and can’t complain we were wasting their time. Even after we’re done with our space I bet we could work something out with different city leaders for potential recruits to do small projects or supplement the work force on a larger one. Also . . .” he caught himself. “I’m sorry; I was running ahead with the idea, wasn’t I? Thank you, it’s an excellent suggestion, I’m glad I came.”

 

“Interesting as this has been I have other duties to attend to,” she smiled to take any sting out of her dismissal.

 

“Thank you, Your Majesty, I suppose duty calls us all,” Alistair stood and bowed before he left with Eamon.

 

_“Father would have approved of his sense of responsibility and even many of his decisions. He might even have liked him, though there is that Theirin sense of humor which he often found irritating. I don’t think he would even have faulted Alistair’s actions at the Landsmeet. . . He does share Cailan’s enthusiasm, though it seems more tempered or perhaps I should say better directed. . . . I’d like to be friends with Jannasilane, she is such a refreshing young woman and she’s important to Blake. I can see why she reminds him of Elissa. I know Alistair was just talking but he might have a good idea about Bann Sighard. Somebody needs to take over the Arl of Denerim and there aren’t many candidates. Arl Wulff . . . poor man, I don’t think he has the heart even if I could convince him.”_ She continued to mull over candidates as she went to her next meeting and then put the problem to the side so she could focus on the issue in front of her.

 

As Eamon walked with Alistair through the Palace corridors he noticed the whispers and glances directed at the young man at his side. Guards stood just a little straighter, maids sighed and slowed down for a longer look. Alistair seemed oblivious. _“The boy, young man I should say, has come into his own. He would have been an excellent king in time but I think his current position is where he will truly excel. Blake is strong enough and savvy enough to balance Anora; they’ll be good for Ferelden if they don’t start working against each other. I hope in time Anora will be able to look past the Landsmeet and truly appreciate Alistair for the fine man he is.”_ They reached the entrance, “I will see you later, Alistair. I’ve already sent notice to the staff so you can head to the estate whenever you’re ready.”

 

“Thank you, Arl Eamon, that is appreciated. Off to the tailor I go,” he said without any enthusiasm whatsoever. Then he smiled and shook hands with the older Arl before leaving.

 

_“Isolde looked like she was sucking on something sour when she realized I was higher-ranking than she and Eamon. I bet her head would have exploded if I actually became king. At least Connor was glad to see me,”_ he was on his way back to Soldier’s Peak with one of the Dryden caravans. He was looking forward to seeing his Janna again; one week without her company was a week too long in his opinion.

 

“Going to the top of the fortress to look for him will not bring Alistair any faster,” Riordan finally said in amused exasperation. “Since yesterday morning you have been hopping around like one of the chickens you wish to get. We have accomplished much. The library was a treasure trove of information on running this place. Levi already has word out to the many members of his family and soon the shelves will be filled with various supplies and thanks to his brother we have a decent supply of arms and armor to supplement whatever the recruits bring with them.” Nugflutter barked his agreement with the senior Warden.

 

Jannasilane scowled at them and then reluctantly gave a self-deprecating smile, “I am being silly, this is truth. This is the first time we have been away from each other when we are not at odds or there is trouble. I am most used to his presence.” She wandered the main hall, lightly touching the furnishings and other changes they’d wrought in the past week. “I want my Ali to be proud of what we have done and to show him I can be a help to him other than fighting and, uhm, er,” she looked a bit anxious.

 

Riordan smiled, “Little one, you have already given him everything he ever truly wanted. Anything else is a delightful bonus and you have plenty of time to discover how you can best make your life together. And I think he will be quite pleased with what he finds. Thanks to Ser Nugflutter we have far exceeded any expectations I had,” Riordan promoted the little dog after he demonstrated an uncanny ability to ferret out useful items in unusual places and expose hidden faults before they could become a liability. He went back to studying the map spread out on the table, making some additional notes and adjustments based on the morning’s exploration.

 

“Riordan,” Jannasilane spoke in a soft, hesitant whisper, “about the night we arrived . . . I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think . . . I don’t want you to think less of me. I know you never said anything . . .”

 

The senior Warden brought her fingers to his lips, and waited until she was looking at him, “Has this been bothering you all this time? Little one, I was privileged to meet you at Ostagar and honored to travel with you and enjoy your company on the road to Denerim. You are a miracle and I can only feel blessed that you even consider me worthy of sharing the beautiful connection between you and your Alistair. I hardly fault you for behavior or needs that were forced upon you by nature of your unusual heritage. You dishonor us both and Alistair as well by thinking any shame should be attached to your actions.”

 

“I am most fortunate in my friends, this is truth,” she sniffled against his neck after throwing her arms around him.

 

“If you and Zevran ever have a contest on who can charm the most women my money is on you,” Alistair commented wryly after walking in unannounced in spite of her vigilance. “I definitely feel outclassed.”

 

Riordan laughed and stood, still holding Janna’s hands in his, “Ah, my young friend, I think that is a compliment but you should not feel so because you have the prize.” He then placed her hands in the templar’s. “How was your trip to Denerim?”

 

Alistair sat down and pulled Jannasilane into his lap. He nuzzled her hair and inhaled deeply. “I think it went well, but there’s something I want to say first.” He wrapped his arms around the woman he loved and held her close, “My love, we’ve talked about this. I love you, I adore you and I could never think less of you . . . unless you were to leave me. You have opened up a whole world to me and I can only be grateful.” He kissed the top of her head and waited while she snuggled against him, “We’ll have to go back to Denerim about a week before the wedding so I can have a final fitting. I think you’ll be pleased, my love but Maker, I hope I don’t have to go through that again. He took an awful lot of measurements and asked me what you’d be wearing, what trim did I want, what style . . . I’d rather drink dwarven ale again.” He shuddered at the memory, causing Jannasilane to giggle and Riordan to smile.

 

“You were right about seeing Anora; she gave me some good ideas. The Grey Wardens are now the proud owners of the most damaged set of warehouses between the docks and the market. Sergeant Kylon and Hahren Valendrian agreed to be points of contact for any wanting to join and report on how they got along with fellow candidates. Leliana was in town so she did the bargaining although I think the owners were just glad to get rid of it. An associate of Levi’s has agreed to receive any Warden communications and forward them with one of the Dryden caravans. It will all be encrypted and sealed so it should be safe enough for now. At some point we will need to have our own couriers but for now,” Alistair shrugged. He didn't need to say anything more. “Getting tithes from the nobles will be difficult because so many of them suffered tremendous losses, but I have a list from Eamon so we can begin to make some budget estimates. I spoke to some who remained in Denerim and reminded them that the Archdemon being gone and the darkspawn being gone were two different things and so I return with coin, partial payment of what’s owed. I have a lot of ideas about going forward, but they can wait until we see how things settle.”

 

Riordan bowed slightly, “You have accomplished much, my friend. We have not been entirely sluggish in your absence. The little one has worked hard with the Drydens to make sure the bedrooms in the other hall and the outer buildings will soon be ready for occupation.”

 

“My Ali, we had to replace all the mattresses and bed clothes. The demons may have kept the vermin away but two centuries without care . . . everything we need should arrive soon. Mostly it was a lot of cleaning and simple repairs. The Wardens were quite clever with their fireplaces. I do not quite understand but the system of chimneys and flues make it surprisingly easy to keep the Peak comfortably warm.”

 

“Dryden’s wife Abigail has a widowed sister who is willing to be permanent cook and housekeeper, if you agree, Commander. Upon seeing the amount of food which will be needed once we have a few Wardens in residence we all believe that this is a necessity. Should she need assistance then the recruits and her own family will be available. We have arranged for a trial run to test her abilities. This is a map of the area around Soldier’s Peak, about a mile in any direction. If you will notice here,” he pointed to an area on the map, forcing Alistair to get up and look, “there are two caves side by side. They are difficult to get to but have the advantage of not being easy to spy upon. They face away from here and the area in front quickly drops off into a steep cliff, and it is next to impossible to climb to the top. They need complete exploration but they seem empty. I thought one would be good for the Joining and the other for those who are unsuccessful.” The three of them were silent for a moment at the grim reminder. “They are about a half day hard travel from here.”

 

Alistair studied the map, “You two have certainly been busy. This is amazing, Riordan. I’d like to check out those caves tomorrow, make sure there are no nesting bears, dragons or darkspawn. The Peak looks, well, it looks kind of homey. I like it. Maybe later you can show me the changes you made but right now I need to eat. And then . . . maybe rest a little,” he twirled a strand of Jannasilane’s hair around his finger, leaving no doubt about what he really meant.

 

She blushed a little and smiled up at him. She was as eager as he to be together again, “It is good to have you returned, my Ali.”


	77. Joy in Denerim

All the nobles were in Denerim once again. This time it was a more joyous occasion than the last. Repairs were still going on everywhere you looked but as the big day approached they were more and more hidden by buntings, banners and any festive looking scrap of metal, leather or fabric found. The smell of fresh lumber mingled with the normal scents of roasting food, sweat, spilled beer from the taverns, perfumes and produce. The poor were still poor, thieves still found pockets to pick, mothers still berated rambunctious children but there was an overall atmosphere of levity and good will. They had survived and were determined to rebuild and show the world that Fereldans were tough. The wedding of Anora Mac Tir Theirin to Blake Cousland was a new beginning for Ferelden and the people wanted to temporarily put aside their grief in order to celebrate the end of the Blight and the civil war.

 

“You know, I’m going to miss that carriage,” Alistair looked down at Jannasilane and winked. “I never knew how much fun you could have in one.” They were on their way to what would eventually be the Warden compound in Denerim where Riordan would meet them.

 

“You are a wicked, wicked man, my Ali,” Jannasilane flushed, remembering the way the vibrations of the road reverberated through her entire being when he was inside her.

 

He brought her fingers to his lips, “Only with you, my love, only with you.” He continued to hold her hand as they strode forward. They were both wearing hoods and as incognito as possible; Alistair wanted to see the potential recruits in action without their knowing who he was. Hoods weren’t enough to disguise their height or build so many people paused to look at the striking couple but nobody stopped them. “There it is,” Alistair pointed to three warehouses grouped together. About fifteen people - men, women, humans, elves and one dwarf - were clearing the site. Some stones and lumber were piled to the side and more was put with the rubble. The two of them munched on candied nuts and watched and listened. The candidates worked reasonably well together though there were some disputes and words like “shem” and “knife-ears” drifted towards them.

 

Jannasilane spotted a familiar redheaded figure directing the activities, “Isn’t that Soris?” she gestured in that direction.

 

Alistair looked and smiled, “Clever,” he acknowledged. “That’s an easy way to ferret out those who won’t work with elves, put one in charge. Let’s go meet the candidates, shall we?” He pushed back his hood and they moved forward to greet the elf. “Soris,” he called out, “it is good to see you again. How goes it?”

 

“Al-, Warden-Commander, I didn’t know when you’d be coming to see our progress. My lady,” he bowed nervously. Whispers swept through the recruits, backs straightened and work slowed as they all tried to get a look at the Hero of Ferelden and his Lady. Soris turned to them, “I’m sure the Commander will be speaking with you soon but these lots aren’t going to clear themselves.” He drew Alistair and Jannasilane to the side where they could talk and continue to watch. “Hahren Valendrian knows I’ve always wanted to build things and the destruction of the Alienage gave me an opportunity to put everything I learned from books I scrounged here and there or observing master contractors into practice. Not that the Alienage is rebuilt yet,” he hastened to add, “but we’ve started. Sergeant Kylon brought a master to see what we’ve done and he offered me an apprenticeship. It’s a great opportunity for me. I can help my people and learn my trade . . .”

 

Soris would have gone on but Jannasilane stopped him with a smile, “I am most pleased for you, Soris. Is that why you are here, to help build the Warden compound? Why do you have different piles of lumber?”

 

The elf flushed, “Who builds isn’t up to me, but the ground has to be cleared first so you know what you have to work with. That I can help with. A lot of the stone and lumber which formed these warehouses is useless, but not all of it. If the supports or foundation can remain, they will until somebody makes a final decision. Anything worth reusing we pile carefully over here. One thing about life in the Alienage, you learn how to use things over again.”

 

“Good,” Alistair ignored the trace of bitterness in Soris’ last statement. “I’m sure that we’ll need to make every copper count in order to rebuild the Order properly. Have you had any troubles?” he discreetly nodded at the busy recruits.

 

“Not many. Saykor, the dwarf, was quick to point out that Grey Wardens accepted mages, humans, elves and dwarves into their ranks if they were thought good enough and that leadership was as likely to be one as the other so if they didn’t like it they could ‘take their sodding ignorant asses somewhere else.’” He couldn’t help grinning at that, “He’s the best fighter of the bunch and nobody was willing to challenge him. A few left, there’ve been some grumblings, a few disputes and name-calling when tempers get hot but they at least try to work together. There was some petty pilfering and vandalism, to be expected on vacant lots, but they got together and arranged a rotation so now a few are always on site.”

 

“Saykor seems much more polite than Oghren,” Jannasilane commented, prompting Alistair to laugh. Their ease with the elf went a long way to enhancing Soris’ esteem in the eyes of the candidates still unsure of him. She sat on top of a barrel to wait for Riordan while Soris introduced Alistair to the candidates.

 

“Soris is a good lad,” Riordan commented that evening after dinner. The dining table was the only table big enough to spread out both copies of their plans for the new compound. After seeing the lots they wanted to discuss changes and make sure they changed both sets. At Fergus’ invitation, the three of them were staying at the Cousland manor. Alistair was amused to see how nervous Blake was now that the marriage was so close. The bridegroom-to-be barely ate and left dinner early. “I admit I am curious to see the Alienage and what changes he has made; the builder who apprenticed him must be an unusual man.”

 

 “My lady Package, it is a pleasure to see you. Come join us, my brother is being unusually quiet,” Fergus called from the library. Blake stopped his pacing and glared at him. Fergus just grinned and poured a small brandy for their friend. “The servants all wished me to tell you how much your assistance meant to them. I think every house in Highever is now lemon-fresh. I wager we have the best smelling town in all of Thedas,” he quipped. He watched her sniff the potent beverage and take a small sip. She contemplated the rich amber liquid, took a larger swallow, and immediately started to cough. Both Couslands laughed; Fergus enthusiastically pounded her on the back, “Sister, brandy is meant for sipping, not gulping.”

 

“It,” she coughed and started again, “it is not as strong as dwarven ale, for this I am grateful. I feel quite warm now.” She took another sip, “Yes, it is much better this way.” She studied Fergus carefully, “You look well, this is truth. Thank you for letting us stay here. Eamon invited us as well but I am not sure even my battle song would quiet that woman’s high-pitched nattering,” she sneered slightly. She refused to use Isolde’s name as much as possible; she would never forgive the woman for constantly belittling her Ali.

 

Blake grinned. He knew that in Package’s opinion no greater sin existed than an offense against Alistair. To be fair, Isolde made it hard for anybody other than Eamon to like her. “Teagan drops by often enough, I don’t know if it’s because he hopes to see you or just avoid Lady Screech, I mean Isolde.”

 

“Don’t let either her or Eamon hear you,” Teagan walked in with a laugh. “Hello, Fergus, Blake, your man let me in. I think he’s beginning to think I’m a relative. Or did you take pity on me? Jannasilane,” he bowed over her hand, “it is good to see you again and fully healed, my friend.” He sat down next to her. “I come in person to invite you all to luncheon tomorrow. You can bring Nugflutter if you wish; I know Connor would like to see him again.”

 

“Does that include me as well, Bann Teagan?” chimed Leliana. The pretty redhead walked in behind the suffering manservant. Even though the guards knew she was an acceptable guest he really wished the master’s visitors would allow him to do his job. As if sensing his disquiet the bard turned to him and opened her blue eyes wide to great effect, “Please accept my apologies. I am just so eager to see my friend again that I am afraid I forgot my sense of decorum.”

 

He couldn’t help unbending, “It is quite alright miss, I know his lordship is quite fond of you and that you are a welcome visitor.” He bowed and retired to his position near the door.

 

The men stood at her entrance, Teagan grinning in appreciation, “You will be a most welcome and lovely addition to our gathering, my lady.”

 

Luncheon was a festive affair in spite of Isolde. Although to be fair even Jannasilane had to admit the Orlesian woman restrained herself and managed to hide her dislike of Alistair. “Young Soris sounds like an intelligent young man,” Eamon commented. “If I understand you correctly one family’s fire indirectly helps heat the next family’s home. Every family’s fireplace is between two homes, thus benefiting his neighbor and resulting in more even heating for all. And he is restructuring the building the Tevinters used so that it will be a proper clinic if they need it with a rooftop garden.”

 

“Shianni has much to do with setting up the clinic; she worked with Wynne helping those who were quite sick. They are planning to use it for other community events as well,” Jannasilane added. “For now many elves stay there until their homes are rebuilt. They are all eager for things to be back to normal but Soris and Hahren Valendrian have convinced them it is in their best interests to take time and properly rebuild as much as possible. I do not think it will take long, even the children and the elderly are helping in any way they can.”

 

“What are your plans, Alistair?”

 

“Until the wedding Riordan and I are going to spend as much time as possible with the potential recruits at the new site. Jannasilane will also help test their training and adaptability. I guarantee none of them has battled anybody with her skill set. I’ll meet with some of the nobles who want more information on disposing of, well, clearing their lands safely.”

 

Leliana spoke up, “This afternoon Jannasilane and I are going shopping. It will be fun to look for accessories to supplement her wardrobe.”

 

“I am sure she can use your advice,” Isolde tried to be friendly. “Sometimes it is quite difficult to strike just the right note and Amaranthine . . . some of the banns still place a higher value on fashion than elsewhere in Ferelden.” She was careful not to reference the Orlesian occupation but they all knew she meant Orlais’ influence on the village they built into a city. Eamon was fond of Alistair and his young lady; she couldn’t overcome her dislike for Alistair but she was willing to at least try to get past her feelings for the girl. “Perhaps before you go shopping you would like to come with me and I can discuss with you my wardrobe. It might give you some in-, ideas.”

 

At the other end of the table Eamon’s eyes warmed at her, for an Orlesian woman to allow another woman to see the contents of her wardrobe was a major concession. Jannasilane didn’t know this but he could tell her redheaded friend was well aware. He did not deny his wife’s faults but he knew what none of the others, including Teagan, did; that much of her demeanor was armor built up years ago when they were first married. _“My poor Isolde, she suffered so many slights and insults, was made the butt of too many jokes until Maric finally accepted her but by then it was too late. She had shed too many tears. Maybe I did not do her a favor by marrying her but that ship sailed a long time ago.”_

 

_“Well, if she’s trying to be nice I can as well,”_ Jannasilane thought. “That is kind of you, Lady Isolde. It is truth I do not know much of fashion or its importance. I doubt I will ever understand the, the nuances as you and Leliana do,” she remarked politely.

 

“Can Nugflutter come with me while you’re with mother?” Connor asked eagerly. He beamed when Jannasilane replied in the affirmative. He was even happier when she suggested the little dog stay with him while she was shopping if Isolde agreed.

 

After they returned Teagan and Leliana kept Isolde entertained with some of the sights they witnessed and the antics of street performers while Jannasilane slipped up to Connor’s room where he was reading a book to Nugflutter who seemed to be enjoying it. “You know I am most cross with you, young man,” she startled him. The boy jumped to his feet, confused. “You were not supposed to grow so quickly. You are now taller than me, it is most vexing.”

Connor relaxed and grinned, “Uncle Teagan says if I keep growing I might get as tall as Cousin Alistair.” He was inordinately pleased that he was able to call the Hero of Ferelden ‘cousin’ even if the relationship was a bit sideways. “Miss, Jannasilane, you’ve been to the Circle, right?” he asked nervously. Jannasilane replied in the affirmative and waited, curious. “Will I like it? My tutor seems happy enough but Mother and the Chantry say magic is evil. She hasn’t said that lately but I know she’s worried.”

 

Jannasilane sat down then and thought how to answer him. Once she was ready she patted the seat next to her. After he sat down she finally replied, “I do not know. You remember Wynne? She told Blake once that when she was a young girl she was angry and frustrated but in time she came to see that she could find joy in doing her duty and in teaching young apprentices. She just had to stop railing at her fate in order to see all she was being offered. The Revered Mother helped her come to terms with her fate. She’d been with the Chantry her entire life, brought there as a babe.”

 

“Not all in the Chantry think magic is evil,” she continued. “I think this is an interpretation many put on it but the Sister I knew growing up said magic was a tool, a power or gift from the Maker that comes with great responsibility but man decides whether to use it for good or ill. This makes much more sense to me. When we were helping the Circle I met a mage, an apprentice as you will be, who felt she was evil just for being born with ‘the curse of magic.’ She felt they deserved death. To so mark as evil so many of his children because of powers He granted them? This I cannot believe. You have already experienced some of the temptations and peculiar dangers mages face; I am sure the templars will be watching you carefully because of this. I think you may find your new life difficult because of this and because you are the son of an Arl and have grown up with the privacy and privileges many of your fellow apprentices have never known. On the other hand there are many books and the opportunity to learn many things and you will be among people your own age and abilities.” She held her hand out waved it in a seesaw motion, “Will you like it? I do not know and this is truth. I think, I think perhaps it is up to you.”

 

Neither of them said anything while Connor pondered her answers. Finally he sighed and gave her a sweet little smile, “Thank you. I suppose I knew it wouldn’t be easy but nobody seemed to want to really answer me. They either smile and say I’ll be fine or change the subject. Even my tutor just says it’ll be an adjustment and the templar with her tells me I’ll find out soon enough. I figured even Teagan’s friend Leliana wouldn’t tell me anything different.”

_“Teagan’s friend? I think Leliana has not been telling me something. At least I know what some of their remarks this afternoon meant,”_ her eyes twinkled at being able to grill the bard about _her_ romantic life for a change. “Shall we join the others for tea before I have to leave?” On the way to the small salon she got as much information as she could in order to tease her two friends.


	78. First, a Royal Joining

The storytellers later called it the Dawn of Denerim; ‘The new day cast a special golden glow and bathed Anora and Blake in the Maker’s light.’ Those lucky enough to be inside the Chantry and everybody lined up outside straining to get a glimpse of the newly married royal couple agreed it was a beautiful wedding and Anora never looked lovelier. Blake’s dark good looks in Cousland blue trimmed with silver and gold set off Anora’s blond beauty perfectly. The nobles enjoyed the chance to preen a bit in front of their peers and who could blame them? The just married royals exited the Chantry and stood framed by the doorway for a moment before beginning the long walk to their open carriage festooned with flowers and ribbons. Soon the official witnesses followed them.

 

The crowds began cheering as soon as they saw them, “Hooray! Cheers to the royal couple!” “Aren’t they ever so pretty.” “My, ‘e looks bonny enough to get a child on ‘er wi’ ‘is wicked good looks.” “Oo, his brother’s a handsome one, too.” “Isn’t that one o’ Arl Wulff’s daughters? Poor family.” “And the Hero of Ferelden, too. I didn’t know Grey Wardens were supposed to be so handsome.” “Hooray!”

 

Blake’s wicked grin nearly had a nearby woman swooning. He leaned and whispered in Anora’s ear, “You’re stuck now. I think they like us.”

 

She looked sideways at him with a small smile, “Until you do something to annoy them.” He snorted good-naturedly. Judging by the increased cheers the people seemed to approve of their good humor. He helped her into the carriage and they slowly started their ceremonial tour of the city. Eventually they would end up back at the Palace for the oaths of fealty but first they would tour Denerim and stop to speak to different community leaders, including the Alienage and the docks. Two less decorated carriages followed with their witnesses. Teagan, Arl Eamon, Arl Wulff and Wulff’s younger daughter were in the first carriage. Alistair, Jannasilane, Fergus and Bann Alfstanna brought up the rear.

 

“We could have walked, it would have been faster,” Blake observed when their progress was impeded yet again by a surge of onlookers.

 

“For you perhaps. This dress might be suitable inside the Chantry or the Palace, but not for walking the streets of Denerim. Even Zevran agreed this was the best approach if we were determined to ‘expose ourselves to the masses.’ I rather think he’s not happy with you at the moment.”

 

“I see I’m going to have to watch myself if you two are going to gang up on me.” He tilted his head and studied her, “Fergus was right. He said you were ‘As beautiful a bride the second time as the first and a visual symphony of champagne and wild roses.’ It may not be practical but you look especially lovely wearing it, Anora.”

 

Anora blushed in pleasure, “Thank you, I didn’t know you Couslands were so poetic. Perhaps I am the one who needs to watch myself.”

 

 “What a beautiful wedding. It is unfortunate that the previous Grand Cleric died before she could perform the ceremony. I understand she was looking forward to it, especially in lieu of all the funerals she conducted. Poor woman, she survived the darkspawn but not the rebuilding,” Ginetta said politely.

 

“I heard about that . . . a falling beam wasn’t it? At least there was a qualified Revered Mother able to step into her shoes. I pity her predecessor but I think the country’s morale would have suffered if the wedding had to be postponed for any reason,” Teagan observed. “I think every noble, major or minor, was in attendance. Unfortunately as witnesses we were hardly in a position to swivel our heads around to see if we looked prettier than our neighbors,” he half-teased.

 

“True, but we had the best view of the participants. They looked very dramatic, he’s so dark and she’s so blond . . . do you think their temperaments are equally different? I am trying to think where I read it but I’m sure I read somewhere a theory that there is a correlation between looks and disposition. I don’t think it was ever given any real credence but it is amusing to consider,” Ginetta’s eyes twinkled with good humor.

 

Eamon and Wulff mostly remained quiet. Eamon was content to observe the crowds and listen to Teagan flirting with Wulff’s daughter. He’d been urging Teagan to get married for years but his brother had been resistant. Wulff spoke to be polite more than anything but he was keenly aware of his daughter’s conversation and was ready to step in if need be. He knew Teagan’s reputation.

 

“So you’re an archer, my lady? I am a decent enough sword and shield man but I would appreciate any advice you could give me,” he smiled charmingly. He’d rarely spoken to the slender brunette and was quite pleased to find she was conversant on many topics and that they had much in common. Something about her brown eyes and upturned nose gave her a pixieish expression and belied the quiet way she conducted herself. He found her full lips and slight overbite quietly sexy and her dark eyebrows gave her a touch of drama to otherwise pleasing but unremarkable features.

 

“Isn’t Leliana an expert with a bow? Perhaps you should ask her,” Ginetta responded with a small smile. She liked Teagan, had for years, but she wasn’t willing to step into another’s entanglements.

 

Teagan made what was really an easy decision. Leliana was a pleasing companion but he wanted the chance to get to know the younger Wulff daughter, “It’s hard not to like Leliana. I imagine her stories helped lighten what was too often a grim existence for the months she traveled with the Wardens. She’ll be leaving Denerim, perhaps Ferelden, soon to pursue her own interests once again.”

 

“Perhaps you could allow Teagan and his men to travel with you since you will cover much of the same road. I will not be returning to Redcliffe directly; I have business to which I must first attend,” Eamon suggested. Unspoken between the two brothers was Connor’s name. Teagan did not envy his brother that particular business.

 

“Then I am sure we will find some opportunities to test your bowmanship, Bann Teagan,” this time her smile was wider and friendlier.

 

Leliana would be pleased to know her efforts to find Teagan a suitable wife were bearing fruit. She liked Teagan and enjoyed his company. He was intelligent, witty, charming, steadfast and a good lover. He enjoyed the pleasures Denerim offered but he loved Rainesfere, Redcliffe, and the quieter life. Both knew that their connection was a temporary one and mostly due to their mutual friendship with Jannasilane. _“Alistair will certainly be happier if Teagan is married. He is still a little jealous though he would deny it,”_ she snickered to herself. She had settled on Arl Wulff’s younger daughter, a pretty enough young woman about Alistair’s age whom she thought would be compatible. She didn’t worry overmuch about her appearance as evidenced by her freckles and sun-streaked light brown hair except to be self-conscious about her overbite (which Leliana thought was foolish, she found it alluring), and the woman was a practical Fereldan to her core, which Leliana suspected would be most attractive to Teagan after years of observing Isolde. The icing on the cake was that geographically they were close. It took very little effort on her part to arrange for Lady Ginetta to ride with Teagan.

 

In the last carriage, Alistair kept a soldier’s eye on the crowd even as he admired his beloved. Her gown of bronze and wine shot through with silver threads complemented her hair and skin. She’d learned from Leliana enough to darken her lips to a deep, rich red and he knew exactly where he wanted to see them. She had done something to her eyes that made them brighter and her lashes long and thick. Her hair again swept up and to one side; he brought one hand up to toy with one of the earrings he gave her months previously in Arl Eamon’s study. She turned her head and smiled up at him. “You look exceptionally beautiful today, my love. I admit,” he leaned down to whisper softly, “when I saw you in your finery I became impatient to take it all off.” He straightened and looked around and back down, “I am a lucky, lucky man.”

 

“You are a shameless man to say such things,” she teasingly reproved him. Her eyes traveled over him, admiring how the deep forest green pants and long tunic brought out the sunshine in his hair and eyes. He’d chosen trim in the Amaranthine colors of raw gold and cream though he called them mud yellow and dirty white to the dismay of his tailor. The white silk shirt had a thin patterned stripe of the same gold. The finishing touch was a heavy silk sash in the gold tied loosely around his waist, emphasizing his fit and muscular build. “You are most handsome, my Ali. Many women are admiring you; I do not know whether to be proud or jealous.”

 

Alistair grinned, “Try being both and later I’ll prove to you why you have no reason to be jealous.”

 

Bann Alfstanna choked back a laugh and Fergus helpfully pounded her on the back. “See, Alfstanna,” Fergus teased, “the Hero of Ferelden is a man like any other no matter what the stories say.” Alistair rolled his eyes at the title and the reference to all the exaggerated tales making the rounds.

 

“Really? You mean it isn’t true that you held off an ogre with one hand while embracing a buxom pirate with the other only to be felled by one sip of ale?” Alfstanna quipped.

 

Jannasilane opened her eyes wide in feigned innocence, “Well, it was dwarven ale.”

 

The Warden-Commander shook his head, “That’s what happens when you travel with a talented bard, an outrageous Antivan, and a colorful dwarf. No respect, not even from my nearest and dearest.” He sighed deeply. He brought Jannasilane’s hand to his lips and nibbled her fingers, “You’ll just have to try and make me feel better, my love.”

 

That was three days ago. Teagan, Leliana, Fergus and many others had already departed. Now Alistair was looking at his eighteen potential recruits. He let them all participate in the revelries after the wedding, knowing that for some it would be their last opportunity. He used that time to draft and revise the speech he would give them before talking to each of them privately. _“Maker, I hope I don’t mess this up,”_ he thought nervously. Jannasilane’s presence and support, as well as Riordan’s, helped give him confidence. In the shadows he gave one final adjustment to his Warden armbands for luck and then stepped forward.

 

Jannasilane was so proud of him, standing there so confident and brave, knowing some of his candidates would be dead soon. She noticed how quickly they all quieted and drew their chairs close to hear what he had to say. Alistair looked at each face before he began, making them each feel important. “I am in equal parts pleased, touched, and proud to see so many of you wishing to become Grey Wardens. I will be honest, not all of you will be going to Soldier’s Peak with me,” he expected protests and wasn’t disappointed. “This is not because I doubt your willingness, your enthusiasm or your sense of purpose. I wish to speak to each of you privately but before I do so I want to give you something to think about.” He half sat on top of a table, “The life of a Grey Warden is harder, harder than anything you have ever done. Soldiers retire or pursue other ventures when the battle is over. Grey Wardens do not. We remain forever vigilant; we do not retire. Ever. There are **always** darkspawn.”

 

The room was so quiet a mouse couldn’t have sneaked past anyone’s notice. Alistair took a moment and mentally thanked Fergus for allowing him to continue to use the estate in his absence. “I have the huge task of rebuilding the Order here in Ferelden; it is a challenge I embrace and an honor that humbles me. This means I am not just looking for those who will fight darkspawn directly. Look around you, the Cousland manor is clean and well maintained. This is not because of the guards and soldiers outside. The food we’ll be eating is not because of guards or soldiers. They’re due to the efforts of the servants be they cook or housekeeper. If you’ve ever seen a Grey Warden eat then you know a good cook is worth more than their weight in gold.”

 

“He’s right,” Saykor snorted. “In one day Wardens can eat what would last most families a week. By the ancestors I think some of them even ate the bones.”

 

“Thanks to Her Majesty’s incredible generosity the Grey Wardens also hold the Arling of Amaranthine formerly held by Renden Howe. I don’t know what I’ll find when I arrive. The Arling will have its own needs and perhaps require your services there. I want to give each of you the best chance of success. If I take you to the Peak now you will stay there training and learning for weeks, maybe months under Riordan’s instruction. Frankly, I think it would be shortsighted to take you all now when there may be a lot for you to do elsewhere. Our compound in Denerim isn’t going to build itself, you know. Moreover, just because you don’t go now doesn’t mean you won’t go later. After talking to you privately any who leave to seek another path will be paid for their labors to date with no hard feelings and respect for the decision.” _“Whether the decision is yours or mine,”_ he added to himself. “Before I leave for Soldier’s Peak all of you will swear an oath to the Order.”

 

An almost notoriously quiet young woman from the Alienage, Mira, raised her hand, “Commander, ser, all of us . . . well we want to fight the darkspawn. I hear that some Wardens have even been thieves and murderers. And I don’t think I’ve ever met a mage,” she frowned in thought.

 

“Mages are valued Grey Wardens and you will need to learn how to work with them for your unit’s benefit. I’ve been attacked by enough darkspawn emissaries to be glad we had some mages on _our_ side. What you’ve heard, yes, it’s true. In fact, one of the new recruits who died at Ostagar was a pickpocket from here in Denerim. The Grey Wardens isn’t a charity where everybody gets a second chance. No, my predecessor saw something in Daveth beyond his skill and quickness that made him think the man could be a good Grey Warden. He was right; Daveth was as determined to fight the darkspawn without concern for his own life as any I have ever met.”

 

Riordan watched the candidates carefully while Alistair spoke. Some of them seemed relieved to know they might be able to serve in other capacities. Others frowned at the idea of working with mages. Most of them seemed dedicated. _“Good, they are thinking.”_ After Mira’s comment he decided to add his own thoughts, “I have been a Grey Warden for as long as Alistair has been alive. Many good Wardens have a pre-Warden past that would have resulted in jail or execution or was simply one which they do not look at with pride. This does not mean Commanders troll the prisons looking for recruits but if such a one comes to their attention they examine their character, their current circumstances and the nature of their crime. If they sense a spark or determination that might make a good Warden they have the option to recruit them. Alistair spoke of the lifelong commitment of a Grey Warden, this means that essentially your old lives are over, erased, and a new one begins. For this reason we do not ask another of their past, it is irrelevant. We are all sisters and brothers standing together in a united purpose. If my brother wishes to tell me of his pre-Warden life that is his choice but I will not ask.”

“Now, I don’t know about any of you but I’m ready to eat and the dining room is just across the hall,” Alistair stood. He thought the candidates had enough to think about and he _was_ hungry.


	79. And Then the Other Joining

Seventeen swore the oath of loyalty and ten, including Saykor and Mira, traveled to Soldier’s Peak. Alistair quickly gave up trying to read the reports from Amaranthine when they were in camp. With so many curious recruits around him he just didn’t have time to study them. The Orlesian Wardens were exploring the area and rumors of darkspawn activity were as much he was able to ascertain. Jannasilane stopped them at one point and looked around carefully. Alistair extended his senses as much as possible and finally shook his head in defeat, “I don’t sense any darkspawn.”

 

“I thought I heard not darkspawn but those other vile creatures, _spiders_ ,” she growled.

 

Riordan smiled, “The little one does not like spiders.” He no longer minded the creatures.

 

“This is truth. We also do not have any Rockbinder’s Brew to clean our blades and armor so we must be careful,” she stated.

 

Saykor looked at her curiously, “Rockbinder’s? You must have been in Orzammar; Tapster’s Tavern is the only place that sells it. Orzammar can be pretty tight about letting in outsiders but if you were traveling with the Wardens . . .” Now all the recruits listened intently for this was the first time any recalled the normally taciturn dwarf actually showing signs of curiosity about another.

 

Jannasilane nodded her head, “Yes, they would not have let us in otherwise. Much of it was quite grand but . . . They called _me_ little! I was in the kingdom of dwarves and still called _small_ ,” she stamped her foot and scowled petulantly. The recruits all burst out laughing, even Saykor.

 

“It’s true,” Alistair responded, “at one point we couldn’t even see her among the dwarves. I think they stepped on her,” causing another burst of laughter among the recruits and earning a glare from his beloved.

 

“You are a braver man than I, Alistair, to so risk the little one’s displeasure,” Riordan chuckled. “She is right about the mess, friends. If you have never battled large spiders before then be prepared to spend a lot of time and effort cleaning your weapons. Their remains are noxious and uncommonly sticky. For all our sakes those who have bows should ready them.” There were only a few spiders and a few rounds of arrows easily dispatched them. The spiders were the only hindrance to their travels.

 

“Are the recruits all settled in?” Alistair looked up when Riordan entered the Commander’s office. Those who survived the Joining would move into the main fortress but for now they were in the many outbuildings set up as living quarters. Riordan replied in the affirmative and sat down opposite the desk. “Tomorrow we’ll make sure they are all properly outfitted in armor and weapons. Mikhael’s been busy making sure everything we found here is in good condition. We should also tell them a little something about the different types of darkspawn because we go hunting the day after tomorrow.”

 

Riordan sat quietly and waited. He did not disagree with Alistair. At this point further delay would not help the recruits but he did not think that was why the young Commander was so concerned. Nor did he think it was just the thought of the inevitable deaths from the Joining that worried Alistair. The blond warrior tapped the reports from Amaranthine, “The Grey Wardens from Orlais have been busy. I expected that, to be honest. There are always going to be bandits, thugs and other unscrupulous people willing to take advantage of other’s misfortunes. And I assumed there would be some trouble just because they _are_ Orlesian. Read these,” he commanded and handed them over to the older Warden. He waited impatiently until Riordan was finished. Riordan’s frown confirmed his own concerns, “I thought the darkspawn flew back into the Deep Roads after a Blight. Yet there still seem to be a large number roaming the countryside.”

 

“I too am surprised and perturbed at this news, Commander,” Riordan carefully stacked the reports and handed them back to Alistair. “Of course neither of us experienced a Blight and its aftermath before so we could be overly optimistic about the quickness of their retreat. Unfortunately, Weisshaupt has all the statistical information before and after a Blight. Do you wish to change your plans and take the recruits with you to Amaranthine after the Joining?”

 

Alistair drummed his fingers on the desk while thinking. “No,” he said finally. “I think I’d rather they get at least some training. When I arrive I will have six other Grey Wardens plus Jannasilane and numerous soldiers. I’ll send requests for information to the First and other Warden-Commanders when I get to Denerim. Do you remember Martiello? He seemed the itchiest to move of all the candidates. I’ll send you word when I get to Denerim and find out if there are any other rumors about darkspawn. He can bring my letter with the Drydens. Once he knows the way he can go back and forth. I’ll send another message from Vigil’s Keep via the Dryden contact and . . . let’s start weekly reports both ways for now. We should do that anyway, right? If you don’t hear from me make sure our courier isn’t injured or dead in a ditch then you and the new Wardens let His Majesty and the First know what’s happening and head for Amaranthine. Hopefully this will just turn out to be a slower retreat than we expected.”

 

“I will push their training as much as possible, my friend. I think you are wise to plan for the worse eventuality. I anticipated three months in order to give them times to relax and become accustomed to their new lives but two should be sufficient. Unless you tell me otherwise we will head for Amaranthine two months after their Joining.”

 

The Commander filed the reports away in the desk drawer and stood up. He rubbed the back of his neck and grinned a little, “One blessing, at least we shouldn’t have to go as far as Orzammar to find darkspawn. We can just head east until we run into some.”

 

“It is also good that the little one is a skilled herbalist. While we are gone she can prepare the base potion since we have no mages with us; I spoke to Avernus. He suggested that the addition of a small amount of Spindleweed can keep it viable for a month and we can simply add the final three ingredients when it is time.”

 

“Huh, that’s good to know. At least on some trips we can have some with us just in case. That would be easier than packing each ingredient separately. You know, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time here teaching recruits maybe you should write this information down and at least keep it here in the office. You can be the Professor of Wardenology,” he joked.

 

Riordan gave a shallow bow, “I am most honored though I should probably demand a raise.”

 

“How about a plaque? We can probably afford a tastefully small plaque.” On that lighter note the two Wardens left the office.

 

They followed the sounds of merriment where Saykor and others were trying to teach Jannasilane Diamondback. Alistair watched and listened from the shadows. He didn’t want to spoil their fun by having their Commander join them. It struck him how young she was compared to them, and him. “Have you ever felt old, Riordan? Older than your years? It’s odd but I don’t think I was ever so light-hearted except maybe when I was really young before being sent to the Chantry and then moments here and there while traveling.” He sighed and smiled a little ruefully.

 

“Sometimes. Right now, for instance,” he responded with raised eyebrows, causing Alistair to smirk. “And when I met the little one at Ostagar and realized my old friend was her father, and that I am old enough to be yours. You _are_ thinking of the little one, are you not?” Just then she scowled and threw down her cards, causing the others to burst out laughing. “I suppose you never had the opportunity to just be a young man and now your command will forever separate you from those who would otherwise be your peers. Experiences mature some of us beyond our years. Even the little one is older in experience than most of those with her. I am glad she can still have moments such as this. It refreshes me.”

 

“I think I know what you mean.” They were both silent and continued watching the young people a few more minutes.

 

Saykor stared mercilessly at Jannasilane, “You lost and now you have to pay up. We get to ask a question and you have to answer. That was the bet.”

 

Jannasilane crossed her arms and glared back, “This I know. It is not necessary for you to remind me each time I lose.”

 

“It’s part of my fun. You are a terrible bluffer,” the dwarf grinned. “Now . . . what to ask now . . .”

 

“I want to know how you got those three scars,” Alda, a young woman from south of Denerim mimicked the path marked by the Archdemon.

 

“I’ll answer that,” Alistair made his presence known. He hated remembering that day. He touched her hair lightly, “Didn’t you learn anything from Oghren?” He turned his attention to Alda, “Archie didn’t like her much. I don’t know why since I think she’s quite adorable. He obviously had very bad taste.”

 

Alda’s eyes got wide, “Archie? You mean the Archdemon?” Alistair, Riordan and Jannasilane all nodded.

 

Saykor scowled, “No fair, Commander. She has to answer the question. Who is Oghren? And no help from the over-sized peanut gallery,” he warned. He was quite perceptive and realized that the Wardens didn’t really like talking about her injuries. His respect for her increased drastically after Alistair’s revelation.

 

“Oghren is,” Jannasilane began giggling; “Oghren is a warrior from Orzammar . . .” They passed the rest of the evening telling some of the funnier stories from their travels. It was late when they all went to bed.

 

“Looks like we can head out later today rather than waiting until tomorrow,” Alistair was staring glumly at the cold rain that didn’t look like it was going to stop any time soon. He hated traveling and fighting in the rain. No matter what he did it always seemed to find a path down his neck and back. “Saykor is the only one who needs any repairs done, the others are happy to replace what they have. We leave after lunch.”

 

Riordan nodded, “Very well. I am eager to get underway even though, with this miserable rain, I know my joints will ache before we are done. The cost of years of battle.”

 

“I will try to send you both warm, dry thoughts from back here, my Wardens,” Jannasilane wrapped her arms around Alistair’s waist and leaned her head against his back.

 

He could feel her smiling, “You are a wicked woman and I will think of a suitable punishment while we’re gone.” He put his hands over hers and savored the feel of her against him. “Consider yourself warned.”

 

Three days later a small fire near the entrance of the cave lit the faces of the anxious recruits. They were dirty, tired, nervous, and exhilarated with the success of their first mission: gathering darkspawn blood. Alistair tried to remember the exact words Duncan used at Ostagar; he didn’t want to flub his first time conducting the ritual. “Now it is time. We Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are to battle the darkspawn and fate may dictate you pay that price now rather than later. This is why the Joining is secret.” He paused, half-expecting Blake to ask if that meant the Joining could kill them. Instead he only heard the feet shuffling nervously and some gasps. “You all have some experience with the darkspawn and a Blight so you already have a better understanding of a Warden’s role than those at my Joining. Such secrecy is necessary, especially as the memories of dark times fade.” Riordan came forward carrying the chalice, “And so we drink of the darkspawn blood, forever changing us; allowing us to sense them and to better fight them.”

 

Saykor nodded his head slowly, “I’m ready.” He looked shrewdly at Alistair, “This is why you spoke to us in Denerim as you did, isn’t it Commander? That was our last chance to change our minds.” He didn’t expect an answer so wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get one.

 

“Before we begin Riordan will speak the words said before my Joining and every Joining before that,” Alistair and Riordan bowed their heads.

 

“Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.”

 

Alistair allowed a moment of silence before he picked up the chalice, “Saykor, step forward. You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint.” The dwarf took a deep breath and let it out before taking the chalice in his hand. He looked into the goblet before raising it and taking a sip. As Duncan had before him, Alistair was ready and removed it before Saykor could feel the effects. The dwarf fell to the ground, senseless but alive. “Mira . . . Alda . . . Samuel . . . Bart . . . Zeke . . . Terry . . . Karochko . . . Gabriel . . . Harami . . .” Riordan was behind each recruit to ease them to the ground when they fell.

 

“Only three died; this is quite a high success for a Joining, Alistair. Customarily we don’t expect more than half,” Riordan helped make the survivors comfortable before they moved those who didn’t survive.

 

Hours later Alistair watched Riordan lead the new Wardens back to Soldier’s Peak where they would take up residence inside the main building during their training. Some of them were fingering the new amulet they each wore around their throat. Solemnly he lit the pyre, “Alda, Bart, and Karochko, may you each find the peace of the Maker or the Creators. Your sacrifice will be remembered.” He stared into the flames for some time before joining his men.


	80. Amaranthine Anxiously Awaits Alistair’s Arrival

Their escort was a very business-like young woman. Blake had insisted at least one soldier accompany them, “If it’s just you two bandits will surely attack while you’re busy in your tent.”

 

“What my husband means,” Anora rolled her eyes but secretly she amused to see how red Alistair and Jannasilane became, “is that it is not seemly for an Arl to travel without at least one guard. No matter how accomplished that Arl is. One guard shouldn’t diminish the Hero of Ferelden’s ‘kick-ass’ reputation.” She was even more amused to see their jaws drop when she said ‘kick-ass.’ “Mhairi has been in Amaranthine for the last few weeks, assisting the Grey Wardens from Orlais. They sent her here to wait for you.”

 

Mhairi was as capable as Ser Cauthrien was and was a perfect example of the ‘ever vigilant’ line of the Grey Warden motto. She was not, however, chatty. She didn’t seem unfriendly, just reserved or even shy. _“It’s probably something perverse in me that misses even Morrigan’s snide comments,”_ Alistair thought in amusement. _“At least she doesn’t seem to be falling over herself in awe of the bloody ‘Hero of Ferelden.’ And for her sake I’m glad she isn’t like Terry, trying to get me into her bed. Janna would cook for her or something equally vicious. My love has such a mean streak,”_ he looked fondly at the woman he adored. _“I don’t like what I heard in Denerim, that the darkspawn have mostly retreated everywhere but Amaranthine. I suppose it’s possible that after the Archdemon died they ran in the opposite direction from Redcliffe but I still don’t like it. I hope the other Commanders have some information for me.”_

Jannasilane looked around her curiously. The land was much more open than the parts of Ferelden she traveled with the Wardens. The small farm she grew up on was surrounded by forest. “I am unfamiliar with this area,” she spoke politely, trying to draw the young woman into conversation, “Can you tell me how far we are from Amaranthine, Ser Mhairi?”

 

“We are already in the Arling itself; it’s a large Arling full of farms and several miles of coastland. The city of Amaranthine is beyond where we’re going, Vigil’s Keep. The Arl’s family has lived there for centuries; it’s only another mile or so, my lady,” Mhairi answered pleasantly.

 

“Ser Mhairi, I understood Amaranthine is still being plagued by darkspawn attacks but we haven’t seen any. What are your thoughts?” Alistair wanted to know if she was as intelligent as she was competent.

 

“C-commander?” Mhairi was a good soldier and knighted by the time she was twenty-one but she wasn’t used to her commanding officers asking for her opinion. She stood to attention as she would to deliver her report and gathered her thoughts. “Darkspawn were sighted in small groups all over the Arling. The Grey Wardens from Orlais split up to investigate these sightings but only encountered a couple of stray creatures. They did find enough evidence to suggest the sightings were not exaggerations or mistakes by excitable farmers. They should be back at Vigil’s Keep by now in order to compare their findings and report to you. Sir, in my opinion they are as confused as anybody is by the fact they haven’t found the source. I may be wrong; the Grey Wardens haven’t exactly confided in me. It’s almost like the darkspawn are taunting and testing . . . playing games . . . but they can’t do that, can they?”

 

Alistair stared into the distance, his eyes narrowed in thought, “Unless they found something else to lead them and give them purpose then in my experience I would have to say no.”

 

“That’s . . . that’s disturbing,” Mhairi frowned, unsettled by the possibility. “I’m glad now we didn’t follow the main road. This is faster and took us past some of the places where darkspawn were sighted.”

 

“Good thinking,” Alistair said mildly. _“Sightings yet no real damage; no sense of lingering corruption to tingle my senses. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”_ He suggested they pick up their pace, “I don’t know about you but I’m tired of this rain. Since we’re so close let’s move a bit quicker, maybe we’ll be in time for a hot meal.”

 

They picked up their pace but the rain turned into a downpour and the sky was dark before they sighted the Vigil. Immediately Alistair and Jannasilane went on alert. “Darkspawn,” Alistair yelled. “Janna, get to those chasing that man. Mhairi to the left, I’ll take the group on the right.” He moved to intercept and smiled grimly to hear her battle song ringing out.

 

_“These are tougher and more cunning than the ones in the Korcari Wilds. Something is definitely leading them, but what? It can’t have anything to do with Morrigan’s ritual; it’s only been three months. Three years might be a different story but not three months. Better hear what that man has to say . . . he looks like he might be a guard, or was one at some point.”_ Alistair hustled over to question him.

 

Jannasilane watched the man she saved beating the dead genlock. Alistair and Mhairi both were coming over so she said nothing, figuring the poor man needed to release some of his fear and anger. When he sensed the large warrior’s presence he stopped and looked up, “The Hero of Ferelden . . . thank the Maker you came! They came out of nowhere.”

 

“Calm down. Tell me what happened. Where are the other Wardens and how many darkspawn are there?” Alistair spoke quietly, trying not to agitate the man further.

 

Words came flooding out of the other man, “All was quiet . . . suddenly dozens of darkspawn . . . mage who might be a Warden . . . not sure how many left alive . . . horrible . . . go to the main road and see if I can flag down any patrols.” He scrambled to his feet and ran off.

 

“I do not like this, my Ali. I do not like this at all,” Jannasilane frowned after the running guard.

 

“Nor do I, my love, nor do I. I guess we’ll find out soon enough what’s happened,” he ran his hand over his jaw and then turned to Mhairi. “That was some excellent fighting. You’re not just an escort, are you?”

 

“No Commander. I asked to come to Amaranthine so I could join the Wardens. I wasn’t expecting this . . . Seneschal Varel is in charge in your absence. Maybe he’ll have some answers for you, if he’s still alive.”

 

“Perhaps. Let’s go chop off some darkspawn heads, shall we?” he readied his shield and strode forward.

 

They were able to rescue a few more people while fighting their way into Vigil’s Keep. Even inside the walls the darkspawn were everywhere. The first survivor they found was the previously mentioned mage. He finished burning some of the creatures to a crispy black and turned to them with a smile, “Well, it’s nice to see people of the non-darkspawn variety.” He eyed the women appreciatively, “It’s even better to see such abundant loveliness gracing this formerly austere room. I am Anders, dear ladies, mage and, sadly, wanted apostate.” He ignored Alistair’s eye roll and explained that the templars had captured him and were staying for the night when the darkspawn attacked.

 

Jannasilane smiled at the slender blond mage with sun-streaked hair gathered in a ponytail, “Anders?” She tilted her head, “The healer? Brody spoke of you while we were in Denerim. My name is Jannasilane. You’ve probably already guessed this is Alistair, the new Warden-Commander. Mhairi accompanied us.”

 

“While it’s a pleasure to meet a survivor who can fight perhaps we should continue exploring the Keep for others,” Alistair said drily. A touch of jealousy went through him at the way the mage was looking at Jannasilane but he put it aside. “I’d appreciate your help. I won’t stop you though if you want to leave.”

 

Anders jerked in surprise, “You won’t?” He studied the larger man carefully. He saw a handsome, well-built warrior with sunny blond hair and indications of a ready smile. _“If he’s the new Warden-Commander then he’s also the Hero of Ferelden, I heard that much. He’s young, but I suppose fighting a nasty old dragon can age you as much as running away from the templars as often as I have. Is he really that tolerant or just good at hiding his true intentions?”_ He held out his hand, “I probably would just run into more darkspawn so I’ll tag along with you for now. Anybody need healing?”

 

The workers who managed to hide from the darkspawn were grateful to be rescued. “Anders, can you sense the emissary on the other side of this door?” Anders shook his head. “Do you have any area of effect spells? I estimate the emissary is 40-45 feet straight ahead. If you can get something going at that range I’ll smite him before opening the door. There are a lot of darkspawn in there with him. Jannalove, if you have any extra earrings give them to Mhairi and Anders. I think we’re going to need your battle song.”

 

“You’re a templar!” Anders accused. He felt betrayed.

 

Alistair shook his head impatiently, “No, I was in training before I became a Grey Warden but not by choice. We can discuss that later if we survive but for now either run or help. I just wanted to give you warning. Mhairi, protect him. A mage, especially a healer, is invaluable.”

 

The lanky mage didn’t say anything but he did glare at the templar out of hot brown eyes before conjuring up an electrical storm. They fought in silence. Alistair felt Anders’ resentment but at least the mage continued fighting at their side. They raced forward when they heard sounds of a commotion and Alistair grinned when a familiar figure waved at them before swinging his battle-axe. Once the darkspawn lay dead around them Oghren spoke, “Heard the noise and figured it might be you. I told these darkspawn to watch out now that the Warden-Commander and his Cherryplum were here. Thought I’d try my hand at being a Warden. Looks like you can use all the help you can get.”

 

The Warden-Commander couldn’t help grinning, “Oghren, good to see you. It’ll be nice to fight with a beer-swilling dwarf again.”

 

“Really? I find that hard to believe,” Mhairi muttered dubiously.

 

“Cherryplum?” Anders had sidled over to Jannasilane’s side and whispered to her. He gave her one of his more charming crooked grins, “It suits you but I think I prefer Poppet. Or Sweeting if we get close.”

 

Jannasilane smirked but otherwise ignored his suggestion, “Oghren fought with us against the Archdemon.”

 

Oghren leered at Mhairi and let out a loud belch, “Well, let’s go chasing down the rest of these critters then. Can’t say I approve of them messing up your house.”

 

They found Mhairi’s friend Rowland dying in the hallway. His eyes lit briefly when he saw Alistair, “Commander, there were too many and they came too quickly to stop them.” He stopped to catch his breath.

 

Alistair held his hand between his own, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, Rowland. Tell me what you can, friend.”

 

Alistair’s expression and the gentle manner he used with the wounded soldier impressed Anders. Perhaps he wasn’t just another ruddy templar. He listened carefully to Rowland’s report.

 

“Talking darkspawn? The lad must be delirious,” Oghren exclaimed.

 

Alistair exchanged a look with Jannasilane, “Maybe not.” Carefully he closed Rowland’s eyes, “May you find peace at the Maker’s side, Rowland. We will return to honor you and the others who have fallen this day.” He stood and faced Mhairi, “There is nothing you can do for him now, Ser Mhairi, except help me to cut down the fiends who did this. I will not let the deaths of my people go unanswered. Let’s go find the Seneschal.”

 

More darkspawn died at their hands before they found Varel on the tower walls in the hands of more creatures. Their leader was speaking, just as Rowland said. “It has ended, just as he foretold. Take the Warden and kill these others, they are not necessary.”

 

“It shouldn’t have said that,” Oghren muttered as Jannasilane sprang forward shouting her defiance at the talking beast. Nobody was going to take her Ali.

 

“No! This cannot be,” the creature howled in dismay as it was defeated.

 

Alistair helped the older man to his feet, “Seneschal Varel?” He received a nod in reply. Anders sent some healing magic his way so he could talk more comfortably.

 

“Commander, I -” he got no further before he was distracted by the sound of approaching troops. “More visitors, it seems. Let us hope they are friendlier than the last.” The tired group descended and waited at the gates.

 

“I thought I would see how you were settling in but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” a familiar voice hailed them from the darkness.

 

“We wanted to make sure you remembered what excitement is, now that you’re a dull married man,” Alistair said lightly while taking a knee to greet the former Warden.

 

“Your Majesty,” Mhairi half-gasped half-squeaked and quickly knelt before her king.

 

“My sister and the Hero of Ferelden are two people who do not need to kneel before me. Speaking of Package, where is she?”

 

Jannasilane stood and glared at her king and ‘brother.’ Arms akimbo she stamped her foot, “I am not little.”

 

“This is true, Your Majesty,” another familiar voice purred. Zevran stepped forward and bowed to the scowling woman, “No one with claims to the most magnificent bosom in Thedas can possibly be called ‘little.’ I am very pleased to see that you are not injured, Pocket Goddess,” he took her hand and kissed it in the best courtly manner.

 

“I too am very happy that neither of you are injured. What happened here, Commander?” Blake was serious now. He became positively grim when Alistair and the Seneschal related the day’s events. He shook his head, “Kidnapping, talking darkspawn . . . I wish there was something I could do but right now I have issues among the Bannorn which must be dealt with. You and Package are on your own for the moment although -”

 

“Hey! What about me? I didn’t come here to eat teacakes. Where’s the cup? I’m ready to gargle and spit,” Oghren jutted his beard forward pugnaciously.

 

“You’re not allowed to spit,” Alistair replied and immediately regretted it.

 

“Heh heh, that’s what _I_ always say,” the dwarf leered at Mhairi.

 

“Your Majesty, that man is a criminal!” The leader of a small group of templars who were temporarily traveling with the king’s men finally spoke. Ser Rylock’s zealotry burned out of her eyes and she wasn’t going to wait any longer for her goal.

 

“I admit the dwarf is a bit of an ass,” Alistair began, just to rile her.

 

“She means me,” Anders said with a sigh.

 

“I will see you hanged, murderer,” the templar spit out venomously.

 

“I didn’t kill – oh, never mind. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

 

Jannasilane had been watching Ser Rylock and didn’t like the woman, “Anders speaks the truth. The darkspawn killed the templars.”

 

Blake hadn’t liked the templar leader when she requested permission to travel with them as long as they were going the same way. Unfortunately as king he wasn’t allowed the freedom to show his distaste, not if he wanted to avoid complications. He and Alistair traded glances, “Does the Warden-Commander have anything to say?”

 

“Anders has already proven to be a great help when he didn’t need to. I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription and take him as a Grey Warden,” he said quickly. _“Well, this is not the way I wanted to start my time in Amaranthine.”_

The templar lieutenant was incensed and started to argue but Blake stopped her, reminding her that Grey Wardens had that right and he wasn’t going to interfere. He moved off to the side and motioned Alistair to join him. He waited while Alistair gave instructions to his people, “Seneschal Varel, Anders is a gifted healer so I’d like the two of you to tend the wounded. That’s our first priority. Oghren, Mhairi, work with the remaining guards and soldiers to restore some semblance of order. Oghren knows what to do with the darkspawn bodies so I want you working together. We’ll join you soon.” He knew Jannasilane wasn’t going to let him out of her sight, not with that Rylock woman boring holes into his back. He could feel his shoulder blades itching.

 

“Alistair, I really am sorry I can’t do much. Do you want me to send word to Riordan? There is one thing I _can_ do, with your permission. I can have my soldiers conduct their training exercises along the main roads, at least as far as Vigil’s Keep. Small squads only,” now that they were alone Blake showed his concern for his friend.

 

“That’ll work. Perhaps they can escort the recruits I left in Denerim. Soris will know which ones. I want Riordan to stay at Soldier’s Peak with the new Wardens. If Wardens are being targeted and kidnapped then they’re at a disadvantage until they get a handle on their new abilities. This definitely makes things difficult,” Alistair concluded.

 

“That woman is not happy with your warrior, beauteous Pocket Goddess,” Zevran commented as the angry templar took her men and departed. “I would be sure to watch your back and that of the handsome Alistair, if I were you.”

 

“Nobody is going to hurt my Ali,” Jannasilane swore. “She won’t give up, will she?” she asked rhetorically.

 

Zevran snorted, “Fanatics rarely do, in my experience. Unfortunately, she seems to be of that persuasion. A shame really, she would be quite attractive otherwise. Perhaps she has a tendresse for the lanky, attractive mage and he made the mistake of encouraging her so he could use her.”

 

“He does like to flirt,” she recalled some of his comments and mannerisms. “He reminds me of you in some ways.”

 

“Then he is truly of sterling character and the Warden-Commander did well to recruit him,” the Antivan jested. “And you have Oghren with you again. Another warrior skilled in fighting darkspawn is good though you may wish to make sure he remains downwind of everybody else.”

 

Blake and Alistair joined them. “We have to go now, take care of yourself, Package,” Blake leaned down and gently kissed her on the forehead. He signaled his troops and they were off.

 

Alistair and Jannasilane watched them until the last man passed and then they entered the Keep together.


	81. A Troubling Situation

Mhairi was upset but she tried not to show her feelings. The Warden-Commander refused to put her through the Joining yet the apostate and that oaf, Oghren, were going to Join first thing in the morning. _“It’s not fair. The Warden-Commander says I’m one of the best soldiers he’s seen, which is why he wants me to work with Captain Garevel to build up the guard and the ranks of the Arl’s army. I understand his reasoning but . . . it’s not fair.”_ She _was_ a good soldier so she strolled the perimeter, becoming more puzzled as she did so. There were no signs that the darkspawn invaded from outside the Vigil. _“So where did they come from?”_

 

Jannasilane directed the cleanup inside. “I am glad that it is the soldier’s section only which received the darkspawn’s attentions. I am getting weary of cleaning up castles.”

 

“Pardon?” Mhairi wasn’t sure she heard correctly.

 

The smaller woman turned around, “Howe left Highever a mess.” She didn’t elaborate further but thought the knight understood judging by her moue of distaste. She studied the warrior, wondering what she was thinking. She knew Mhairi was not going to undergo the Joining as she hoped. “Did you notice anything while you were outside? My Ali will welcome any observations you have; he is most impressed with your abilities.” Mhairi stiffened slightly but didn’t say anything about her disappointment. Jannasilane approved of her restraint.

 

 “We’ll need to look again during the day but I did not see any signs of the walls being breached. Your friend, Oghren, is still by the burning darkspawn corpses. He says he wants to make sure every bit gets burnt to a crisp so there’s no chance of contamination,” Mhairi looked a bit sick.

 

“He can also drink without any bothering him,” Jannasilane remarked with a twinkle in her eyes. “Oghren is one of the best fighters of darkspawn you will meet but his style is unusual. Do not let yourself get drawn into a drinking contest with him; my Ali learned that the hard way.” She shook her head at the memory. “I believe the Commander is conferring with Seneschal Varel and Captain Garevel in the study if you wish to share your observations,” She turned back to the cleaning operation when Mhairi left. “I wish I had some lemonweed,” she muttered. She was tired, as was everybody else, but the mess would be much harder to clean if left to the next day.

 

Alistair, Seneschal Varel and Captain Garevel were alone in what would become the Warden-Commander’s office. A large and detailed map of the Arling was spread across the desk, “His Majesty can’t actually send us troops, which is probably just as well, but he is going to arrange for any training exercises to be conducted on the main roads between Denerim and a few miles shy of Vigil’s Keep. One group of his soldiers will escort the seven Warden candidates currently in the city. Though maybe I should start calling them cousins, since they’ve all sworn oaths to serve the Grey Wardens but won’t go through the Joining yet,” he explained.

 

“That will certainly help. We were already spread thin and we lost a number of men in tonight’s attack.” At Alistair’s direction Captain Garevel began placing map pins: red where darkspawn were sighted, yellow where his men patrolled and blue where the Orlesian Wardens investigated.

 

“There _is_ one Grey Warden who was not here. Kristoff was investigating some rumors and might still be in Amaranthine,” Seneschal Varel reminded them.

 

“Right, tomorrow morning the Joining and trying to figure out how the darkspawn got here. They certainly didn’t fall out of the sky. Then I suppose a quick trip to Amaranthine is in order,” Alistair rubbed his temple, trying to balance everything that needed to be done. “Captain, if you can recall the order of the darkspawn sightings that might reveal a pattern.”

 

“Yes, Commander. While you’re in Amaranthine you might want to look up a couple of hunters who claim to know about a darkspawn nest; Colbert and . . . I don’t remember the other one’s name. They’ll probably be among the refugees outside the city walls. It may just be a hunter’s tale-”

 

“But we don’t want to discount any leads,” Alistair sighed. “If I’m going to Amaranthine anyway it’s not as if I’ll be wasting my time. Any idea where I might find this Kristoff?”

 

“Amaranthine only has so many taverns and inns; the most likely ones to find him are between the market and the Chantry,” Varel offered. “Also, Mistress Woolsey needs to speak to you. The First sent her here to be your treasurer. Shall I arrange that for right after the Joining? We also need to set a time for the banns to swear their oaths of loyalty to you; you shouldn’t delay that for too long. Perhaps we should move this map to the adjacent room so we don’t disturb you when you’re in your office. That door behind you leads directly to your private quarters and can be locked on either side.”

 

“Zev, our friend has a few problems,” Blake commented to his lover. To his men’s dismay he was leading his troops, saying that since he was the only one who could sense the darkspawn in an area still suffering from attacks it was a necessary defensive measure. Zevran was the only who knew it gave his Warden a little bit of freedom and them the space to talk privately. Nobody denied that the Antivan was the best guard against other dangers.

 

Zevran kept his sharp eyes on the surrounding darkness, “You mean other than suddenly having no experienced Grey Wardens in the new Warden stronghold, talking darkspawn, and darkspawn seemingly intent on kidnapping him? It is not the welcome our handsome warrior was expecting, I am sure,” he replied wryly. “Is this why you chose not to tell him that most of the trouble in the Bannorn you spoke of is in his Arling?”

 

“If it’s just general discontent because of the darkspawn attacks or the presence of Orlesians, well, he’ll know soon enough. He’s more clever and intelligent than the man he pretended to be when I met him. If not . . .”

 

“If not you need to provide him with specific information instead of speculation, which is where my fine, handsome and devious self comes in,” Zevran smiled wickedly.

 

Blake’s eyes heated, “Very fine, very handsome and wonderfully devious self, yes. The crown can’t afford to be seen coddling or interfering with the new Arl. The Arling _has_ to see Alistair standing on his own. You and I know he’s capable but he’ll have to prove it to everybody else, which is one reason I didn’t ask you to remain behind to help at the Vigil as we discussed earlier. I want you to leave and discreetly enter Amaranthine on your own. Find out what people are saying; if there are people acting against him go to Vigil’s Keep, if none I’ll see you back in Denerim. For now I’ll continue on to West Hill.”

 

The elf sighed deeply, “Alas, the work you make me do, Your Majesty. I will be sure to ask for appropriate compensation.”

 

“I’ll be sure to think of something,” Blake growled.

 

Alistair was tired. Mhairi’s report confirmed his suspicions that the darkspawn didn’t gain entry through the front gates. The Wardens would surely have sensed them. Mistress Woolsey didn’t wait for morning and waylaid him to talk about the state of the treasury, to Varel’s annoyance. _“Something else to do when I’m in Amaranthine, talk to that merchant. Maker, what a night.”_ The door from his office opened onto a narrow stairway that he followed to an opulent bedroom. _“At least the bed is big enough. Howe didn’t deny himself any luxuries here . . . or maybe this is his wife’s doing. I wonder where Janna is.”_ He opened one door and saw a large bathing chamber, another door connected to another bedroom, and the third opened onto the hallway and more rooms. The door at the other end had a lock so he assumed these were all part of his private quarters. _“At least the Vigil is big enough. Varel said it’s been here for a thousand years or more. If I remember my history correctly that means it was probably built by the Alamarri, the Avvars I think.”_

 

He finally found Jannasilane. She and the remaining servants were just finishing the cleanup. “You’ve done a terrific job cleaning up after the darkspawn. I want to thank you all for your efforts,” he smiled when they all looked up. “I know you must be eager to get to bed so I won’t keep you with formal introductions.” To the accompaniment of tired smiles and mumbled thanks he held out his hand, “Come, my love.”

 

“You look tired, my Ali,” Jannasilane said softly as she took his hand.

 

“Tired? I am a manly Warden, we don’t get ‘tired,’” he jested.

 

She snorted, “Since I am neither manly nor a Warden you can carry me.” She jumped into his arms.

 

Alistair pretended to stagger, “Oof, I _suppose_ I can manage this great feat. It will surely be one of the most difficult things I have done.”

 

“I hate you,” she glared at him.

 

“Nonsense,” he answered with a grin and walked away with her still in his arms. “You adore me almost as much as I adore you.” He pretended to drop her, “Hmmm, I think you’ve put on a pound or two.”

 

The last thing the servants heard was his “ouch!” after she twisted his ear. They looked at each other. One of them started to chuckle and then another. Soon they were all laughing. Some of it may have had an edge of hysteria but it felt good nonetheless.


	82. Howe About That

Alistair shook his head in wonder, “Oghren survived the Joining better than any I’ve seen. It must be all those years of drinking whatever he drinks; he even smacked his lips and said ‘not bad.’”

 

“Remember, he accepted Teagan’s challenge to drink a barrelful of pickle juice,” Jannasilane giggled.

 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. It makes me sick just thinking about it. Time to put on my stern Commander face and see this prisoner they caught before the attack,” Alistair quipped and then sighed. They entered the small jail and Alistair dismissed the guard so he could talk to the prisoner. The man inside was a few years older, sullen and dark. He glared at Alistair and Alistair felt a strange sense of recognition but he knew he’d never met him before. Certainly, the man couldn’t have any reason to hate _him_.

 

Jannasilane didn’t like the way the prisoner was staring at her Ali but she kept quiet and watched. "If it isn't the great hero, my father's murderer. Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall? With lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?"

 

Alistair raised an eyebrow but only said mildly, “Only during the third week of the month if it’s not snowing. Unfortunately for you we have some time to go yet. I’ve killed a lot of darkspawn but I suppose that’s not who you mean.”

 

The veins in the prisoner’s neck started to pulse. “My name is Nathaniel Howe, my father was Arl Renden Howe and the Grey Wardens killed him.”

 

“What do you know of your father’s actions?” Alistair demanded.

 

Nathaniel hesitated but finally answered, “Not a lot. He was Loghain’s ally and the Wardens killed him in his own home. I’ve been in the Free Marches for the past few years. I just came back to Ferelden and made my way straight to Amaranthine and the news that my family’s estate now belonged to the Wardens,” he sneered. He breathed deeply and exhaled wearily, “Look, I know you're a hero. You fought a war and you won. But what my father did shouldn't harm my entire family. I planned to . . . when they found me I wasn’t stealing; I decided to get a few things that belonged to my family.” He studied the blond warrior watching him. The Commander was younger than he expected and obviously, the rumors he was Maric’s bastard were true. Now that he’d confronted one of the Wardens, he felt calmer and only mildly curious about Alistair’s decision. Even so, he wasn’t prepared for the Commander's response.

 

“If I let you go what would you do?”

 

The Commander’s words echoed in Nathaniel’s mind. He jutted his chin forward and snarled, “I came here to kill you. If you let me go, you might not catch me next time."

 

Alistair called to the guard, “I’ve made my decision.”

 

“I’ll get the Seneschal, he’ll want to know.” The guard left and the two men stared at each other.

 

When Varel arrived Alistair spoke, “Did you know this is Nathaniel Howe?” He kept his eyes on Howe while Varel spoke about long memories and grudges. “Give him his things and let him go.”

 

“Commander, I must protest!”

 

“You’re letting me go?”

 

Jannasilane was amused by the Seneschal’s and prisoner’s matching expressions of incredulity. She wasn’t sure if she agreed with Alistair’s decision but it was his to make. Nathaniel was angry, bitter, and a little bit lost but she didn’t sense any deceit or malice; which didn’t mean he wasn’t possibly still a danger to her Ali so she kept her eyes on him.

 

Nathaniel briefly stopped to glare at her, “Does your pet mouse ever speak?” The guards hustled him away before she could answer.

 

“Shall I bring him back and beat him up for you, Jannalove?” Alistair asked once they were alone.

 

She scowled at him, “Why did you let him go, my Ali? I worry that his anger may build again and cause him to lash out at you.”

 

“He’s not his father, my love. Blake never liked Renden Howe but he and Fergus were both friends with Nathaniel. I’m hoping he’ll take the opportunity to find out the truth. I owe it to Blake to give his friend a chance,” he explained. _“And I hope neither Blake nor Fergus are so mad at his father that . . . well, it’s done now.”_ He ran his hands over her arms, “I love you. Thank you for not saying anything, my little pet mouse.” He laughed when she growled at him, “Come on, while Anders is still sleeping let’s see if we can figure out where the darkspawn came from.”

 

The day promised to be clear but the sun proved that the walls weren’t breached from the outside. “Damn,” Alistair kicked a stone, “I was really hoping to find something out here. Since they can’t fly the darkspawn must have come from underneath. Let’s hope we don’t have to evacuate the place.” The Vigil’s courtyard was bustling with activity when they entered. An unfamiliar dwarf was scowling at the walls and shaking his head. He looked up and hailed Alistair, “Greetings, Commander.”

 

After a brief word Jannasilane left to check on the different buildings where the soldiers lived and Alistair strolled over to the dwarf. “Hi and welcome to Vigil’s Keep; I don’t think we’ve met, you’re not from Orzammar are you? You don’t have the same air as many of the new-to-the-surface dwarves I’ve seen.”

 

“Voldrik Glavonak is my name. King Harrowmont remembers those who helped him and thought you could use my services and that of my brother Dworkin. You’re quite observant; we left Orzammar years ago. My brother is an inventor or technician of sorts and I’m a master stonemason. Commander, these walls are in terrible condition. Your Seneschal gave me a piece of paper authorizing some money for men but it’s not enough. If you want Vigil’s Keep to be practically impregnable I need properly skilled men, not the mere laborers I can hire with this,” Voldrik explained.

 

“First I need to find out how the darkspawn got in, any ideas?” Alistair asked resignedly. This was turning out to be a long day and he hadn’t had a full breakfast yet.

 

Voldrik answered, “I’ve been thinking about that. I’d check the cellars. This place is old, old enough to have sections built over that the darkspawn may have exploited. Maybe even a connection to the Deep Roads.”

 

“Wonderful,” Alistair muttered. He nodded to Voldrik, “I’ll check it out, thanks.” He heard familiar voices at the smithy and was glad he was wearing his green dragonbone armor. Wade was complaining about the cold and Herren was remonstrating with him, “It’s like being in Denerim again. I’m happy to see you but what are you doing here?”

 

“Freezing,” Wade sniffed. Herren explained they heard about the troubles and thought they could help. He also admitted the Crown paid them a good sum to be here.

 

“My men will need good armor,” Alistair said thoughtfully.

 

“Though they will never look as sexy as my Ali does in the dragon armor you made for him,” Jannasilane said mischievously as she joined them.

 

“The Commander doesn’t need my armor to accomplish that, though it certainly accentuates the positive,” Wade gushed. Then he bristled, “however the materials I have to work with are primitive, primitive I tell you. You might as well use stone clubs.”

 

Alistair blushed, “Maker’s breath.”

 

“I apologize,” the long-suffering Herren said, “but Master Wade does have a point. If you find any decent ore we could do much better for you.”

 

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Alistair smiled and walked away. He looked down at Jannasilane, “I feel like he’s watching me, is he watching me? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

 

Jannasilane snickered and then sobered up, “None of the soldier’s quarters show signs of infestation or disturbance, except from fighting on the outside.”

 

“Voldrik thinks we should check out the cellars; that they may have found and exploited a weakness. There’s only a couple more buildings out here to check and then we’ll have to examine the main building. Maker, I hope they didn’t come from under our own beds,” he pretended to shudder. “We’ll head to Amaranthine as soon as we finish.”

 

“A lot of scared people in Amaranthine,” Oghren observed. “And we’re doing all sorts of errands again, just like before the Archdemon.”

 

Alistair shrugged, “It won’t hurt to build up some good will, and we need money quickly for repairs and so on. We can’t wait until the noble’s tithes come in for the Wardens and I doubt there’s going to be a fast influx of money to the Arling from the banns while darkspawn are ravaging the area. I admit it’s not exactly the way I wanted to explore the lands.”

 

“You mean the great Hero delivered letters and ran errands all over Ferelden?” Anders smirked. He was still annoyed that he’d escaped one templar’s grasp only to be in the hands of another.

 

“My wardens fought in the Provings, cleared out bandits, ended the werewolves’ curse, fought undead and demons,” she took a breath to continue but Anders stopped her.

 

“You win, Poppet, you win.” He smiled winningly, “Perhaps you can tell me about your adventures in detail. If we’re lucky the darkspawn didn’t destroy the wine cellar. How many men fell at your feet, a victim of your many charms?” Anders could feel Alistair glaring at him and knew his flirtation was successfully annoying him. _“Not that I wouldn’t mind showing her certain playful advantages a mage has over non-mages,”_ he admitted to himself. _“It’s been awhile since I could just have fun with a woman without looking over my shoulder.”_

 

“I hope Nugflutter can help that poor mabari,” she ignored his overtures just as she ignored Zevran’s.

 

“Your dog’s name is bigger than he is. Where on Thedas did you find such a bossy little creature?” Anders shook his head. He could still picture the little dog arriving with the cart from Denerim and, after a quick word from its mistress, running into the dungeon only to come out again a short time later ordering the large dog into the sunshine.

 

“Just like its owner,” Oghren belched.

 

Jannasilane smiled up at Alistair, “My Ali gave him to me.”

 

Anders snorted, “That must have been some argument to qualify for such a makeup gift. Wouldn’t flowers have done?” He quickly realized he touched a nerve. Alistair brushed his hand over hair in comfort while she leaned into him. He didn’t need Oghren’s elbow and when he would have huffed he stopped at the look of sadness in the dwarf’s eyes. Quickly he changed the subject, “I wonder how the mighty Nugflutter would fare against a cat. He’s smaller than the cat in the Circle tower, Mr. Wiggums. I was in solitary confinement for over a year because of my escape attempts and that cat was the only one who would talk to me. So to speak,” he hastily added when Oghren opened his mouth to say something.

 

The dwarf spoke anyway, “Mr. Wiggums? First, there was Leliana’s nug Schmooples, then Nugflutter and now Mr. Wiggums. You Fereldans are batty as Branka on a good day.”

 

“What happened to Mr. Wiggums?” Alistair was grateful for a different topic.

 

“Poor Mr. Wiggums, he got possessed by a rage demon. Took out three templars before he was put down, I was never so proud,” he sniffed and pretended to wipe away a tear.

 

Alistair raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t have a choice, you know. I spent many, many hours washing dishes for my ‘irreverence.’ It was never my desire to be a templar and fortunately I was conscripted before I was forced to take my vows,” he replied mildly.

 

That stopped Anders in his tracks. “I know orphans and the children of mages are given to the Chantry. I just assumed they became Sisters and Brothers even if they never took vows.”

 

“Travel with the Wardens and learn something new,” Alistair retorted. He smiled to hear Oghren snickering behind him. “I think you’ll find that Grey Wardens appreciate all the talents a mage can offer. Maybe you didn’t choose to be a Warden but you’ll have a lot more freedom than you ever did hiding from templars.” The mage looked doubtful but didn’t say anything.

 

The rogue watched them approach from a small group of abandoned houses near the Vigil. When they would have passed by he stepped out from the shadows, “Stop! You let me go and I want to know why.”

 

He ignored the comments from the other two men but didn’t notice Jannasilane until it was too late. Fast as anything he’d ever seen she tackled him to the ground and had one of her blades at his throat before he even finished speaking, “You will not harm my Ali.”

 

“Ah, Mouse squeaks at last,” he couldn’t resist taunting her and was rewarded with a low growl from her and a quick grin from the Commander. He looked directly into her swirling eyes and was momentarily distracted. He blinked and kept his attention on her, “I have no desire, wish, inclination or mission to hurt your Commander. Whatever my father did, I was not a part of it. You have my personal oath, if that carries any weight with you.” He shifted his gaze to Alistair, “Why did you let me go? You could have executed me.” He felt the force of four pairs of staring eyes but didn’t move.

 

“Jannalove,” Alistair said quietly. She looked at him and Nathaniel could have sworn he could see the unspoken communication between them. He envied that connection to another. The moment she relaxed the big blond helped her to her feet. Softly he brushed her hair back from her face, “It will be alright, my love.” He batted his eyelashes at her, “My hero.” She crossed her arms and tried to scowl but found it hard. Alistair looked at the bemused rogue on the ground. He held out his hand and waited for Howe to take it, “You’re not your father. What you do, how others judge you, that’s up to you now.”

 

“Make me a Warden.”

 

Alistair studied him carefully. This was no eager youth with hero worship in his eyes. Here was a man a few years older who wasn’t satisfied to live a soft life, as evidenced by his scars and muscles. Grey eyes still held traces of anger and wariness but not the bile of his late father. He made his decision, “We’ll see how you do in the Joining.” Oghren snorted and made some comment about Zevran and Anders just shook his head.

 

Nathaniel trailed silently behind them the rest of the way to the Vigil.


	83. Fealty and Treachery

A slender figure prowled the shadows of Vigil’s Keep. Tonight the Banns were to swear their fealty to the new Warden-Commander but some of them would speak falsely. The prowler smiled cynically to himself; Maric’s bastard had much to prove to these nobles and some were determined he not have the chance. The City of Amaranthine abounded with rumors of discontent about the Grey Warden’s control of the Arling and Vigil’s Keep. Somebody was stirring a large pot of nastiness.

 

He heard a low moan and retreating footsteps. _“A servant’s tryst, perhaps,”_ he raised an eyebrow. _“But those do not sound like the footsteps of an embarrassed interloper.”_ He tracked down where he thought the moan came from and opened a door. A small woman wearing a blue and silver gown was lying on the floor. “Braska!” Zevran snarled quietly and moved to her side. He examined her head with a soft touch. She had a large bump on her skull from contact with something but no bleeding he could find. Carefully he picked her up, “Come, my Pocket Goddess. Let Papa Zev get you safely to your room and then you can tell me what occurred to your beauteous self.”

 

“Mistress!” “My lady . . .” Two servants carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres stared at him with buggy eyes. One of them dropped her tray and turned to fetch a guard while the other advanced upon the elf, forgetting he had no weapons with him.

 

“I’ll stay with ‘im,” the male servant declared. “Get the healer, but be discreet, mind you. On your way find one of the guards and send ‘em along. I’ll keep an eye on this one to make sure he don’t do no funny business.” He glared at Zevran, “And if you’re the one what hurt her you may not last long enough for the Commander to get his hands on you.”

 

Zevran appreciated the sentiment, “I expect no less but I am most fond of Pocket Goddess, I promise you this. One thing perplexes me, the ceremony is well under way yet she was nearer the kitchens than the throne room.”

 

Benny snorted even as he opened the door to the family quarters. Nugflutter and Poorfella, the mabari found in the cellars, greeted them. The mabari growled at the Antivan until the little dog barked acceptance. Gently Zevran laid Jannasilane on the bed and scooped up the small bundle of fur to sit by his mistress.

 

“Zev?” she moaned and tried to sit up. She lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes against the pain.

 

The elf stroked her hair soothingly, “You have a nasty bump on your head, bellissima. Anders is on his way and you shall feel better in no time. What were you doing there instead of at your handsome warrior’s side?”

 

Jannasilane flushed. She looked from him to Benny before finally admitting, “I made a wrong turn.”

 

“My lady does that quite a bit. She still doesn’t have her head wrapped ‘round the Vigil’s layout, bless her. Seeing as she knows you I’ll take my leave and ask cook to send up a pot o’ tea to calm her nerves, like. That healer fella will be here soon,” he stepped out, relieved that she would be okay. The staff were all quite fond of the little mistress and happy to have a fair and good-humored Arl for a change.

 

Anders finished examining her head and doublechecked for other injuries. She moved her fingers restlessly across the cover. “I’m afraid,” she finally admitted. “I, I don’t know what happened after I was hit on the head. What if -” Both men shook their heads.

 

“Your clothing was not so disarranged,” Zevran assured her.

 

“And I would have detected something,” Anders spoke as soothingly as he knew how. After his accidental faux pas when they were returning from Amaranthine Oghren quietly informed him about her stay in Fort Drakon. Rape was not uncommon in the Circle but the level of brutality she suffered went beyond anything he knew.

 

Zevran held her hand, “So, tell me what you do remember, oh Pocket Goddess. Truly it is a crime of the first magnitude for any to so treat the most magnificent bosom in Thedas.” Anders snickered his agreement and Jannasilane huffed.

 

“My Ali had to go down but I wanted to examine my appearance once again. This is a most important occasion and I do not wish to shame him,” she replied earnestly. Zevran tsked at her doubts but didn’t comment further. “I told him to go and that I would join with him soon,” she blushed, remembering the kiss he gave her before he left. Zevran and Anders grinned knowingly. The Commander made no secret of the passion he felt for the small curvy woman. “Once I was satisfied I left, but as you know I made a wrong turn. I heard voices and started in that direction. I did not know if they were guests or servants,” she tilted her head thoughtfully. “I had no reason to be sneaky like some assassins I know.” Zevran just grinned at her and kissed her fingers. “When I got closer I could make out some of their words. They do not like my Ali and I think they are plotting against him. I tried to hear more. There was movement behind me but I was hit on the head before I could turn around. That is the last thing I remember.”

 

Anders shook his head, “He killed the Archdemon, you’d think they’d give him a chance to cock things up before plotting against him.”

 

Zevran snorted, “Many nobles have extremely short memories, my magical friend. I have gathered that some were closely involved with the late and mostly unlamented Renden Howe. I suggest you return and quietly mingle, keep your ears and eyes open. I will help Pocket Goddess repair her delectable appearance and make sure she gets to the throne room without further incident.” He looked sternly at his young friend, “You must go. Alistair will not wait much longer and the nobles may not forgive his abandoning the ceremony of loyalty. I doubt your attackers remain but if they do your appearance may lull them into thinking you do not remember and cannot identify them.”

 

The mage left them and Zevran helped her off the bed. They were both pleased that she could stand on her own two feet without any assitance. Expertly he helped her with her hair and makeup. “I think you are even better than Leliana,” she teased.

 

“I have disguised myself as a woman on more than occasion. I admit I was quite fetching,” he teased. Then he sobered, “My dear Pocket Goddess, I have been in Amaranthine investigating at the behest of our mutual friend. The darkspawn activity only accounts for a small portion of the dissatisfied. Someone, more likely several someones, is actively working against the Grey Wardens’ success in Amaranthine. I used the fealty ceremony to enter the Vigil so I could learn more about your guests and later warn you and Alistair. I will stay the night and test your security but I must return to the city tomorrow. The ‘Dark Wolf’ will contact you when I have more information.”

 

Jannasilane smiled at that. “Before you go, talk to our latest recruit. Nathaniel Howe might know who is more likely to resent my Ali and the Grey Wardens.” Whatever Zevran thought about that revelation he kept to himself.

 

“There she is,” Alistair’s eyes glowed warmly when he saw her enter. “Lord Eddelbrek, this lovely lady is Jannasilane Alenahaella. Janna, my love, Lord Eddelbrek owns many of the farms in Amaranthine.”

 

“Good evening, my lord. I grew up on a small farm in southern Ferelden,” she smiled at him.

 

“A pleasure, my lady,” the older gentleman bowed gallantly. “One of your Wardens informed us that you were seeing to the welfare of an injured servant and that is why you were delayed. Most commendable; I wish more were so inclined. If you don’t mind an old man saying so, it is a breath of fresh air to have a young and attractive Arl and Arlessa. But I shouldn’t monopolize all your time,” he politely took his leave.

 

Before introducing her to anyone else Alistair spoke to her quietly, “I was getting worried. I’m glad you’re here. Lord Eddelbrek is concerned about his farmers. They are particularly vulnerable and he’s asked me to reassign the soldiers from the city so they have more protection. Bann Esmerelle is the Bann for the City of Amaranthine. I don’t need to tell you she’s against that action. I’ll introduce you.” He walked over to where the Bann in question was talking to some of the other nobles, “Janna, I’d like you to meet Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine.”

 

Jannasilane didn’t trust her, _“She wears much deceit. Whether she conspires against my Ali I do not know but she does not like him, her simpering words to the contrary.”_ She was much better at hiding her feelings than she used to be and used that skill now as she listened to the pinched-face Bann extolling the beauty and culture of Amaranthine. “Much of the city was built by the Orlesians, was it not? I noticed the architecture is not as severe as in other parts of Ferelden. A friend of mine tried to describe how beautiful the Chantry is in Val Royeaux. I think I can better picture it now I have seen Amaranthine. I look forward to seeing more of it in time. It is most fortunate that Fereldan practicality did not see fit to tear down such a reminder of the occupation. You must be most pleased.”

 

Bann Esmerelle’s nostrils flared but she maintained a pleasant façade in spite of the little upstart’s words. She couldn’t tell if the undersized woman was being deliberately provocative or was too naïve to understand the insult implied in her statement. She smiled thinly, “Then perhaps you can explain to our new Arl how important it is to protect our fair city.”

 

“I’ll take your concerns under advisement and post the guards where it will do the most good for the Arling. If you’ll excuse me I want Janna to meet some of the other nobles still here,” Alistair replied.

 

The strain of trying to recognize the voices she heard before she was attacked began to tell on Jannasilane. Alistair could tell she was tired and, since they’d met everybody in the room, indicated to Varel that it was time to shut things down. Anders took him aside to tell him of her injuries. The transition from genial giant to ice cold fury was swift and made the mage glad the templar wasn’t angry with _him_. “Varel,” Alistair barked through gritted teeth, “I want you, Captain Garevel and Ser Mhairi in my office now. Anders, get Oghren and Nathaniel.” He looked down at Jannasilane, “I know you’re tired, my love, but I want them to hear what happened first hand from you. Thank the Maker you weren’t more seriously hurt.”

 

Alistair stared out the window at the night sky to calm himself, _“I guess I don’t need Ser Tamra’s papers to know the conspiracy is real. They attack Janna and conspire under my own roof, thumbing their collective noses at me. Bastards!”_ Varel’s discreet cough interrupted his angry musings, he turned around and saw they were all present. “I was warned tonight there is a conspiracy against me. I hoped to wait for more details or confirmation before saying anything but I don’t need to. Jannalove, tell them what happened earlier.” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Nobody doubted he was very angry.

 

“They are either bold or stupid to attack Mouse in her own hole,” Nathaniel was the first to speak. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the little woman but he didn’t like the idea of anybody being attacked in their own home; it reminded him uncomfortably of his father’s attack against the Couslands.

 

“It sounds like a defensive measure to allow them to get away without being seen rather than a planned campaign,” the seneschal observed. “Many of the nobles in Amaranthine were not privy to and would not have approved of Howe’s actions but a few suffered significant losses, both in material goods and power, with his and Loghain’s defeat. Some of them are just as capable of holding a grudge.”

 

Mhairi was aghast; she and Captain Garevel had been making sure the guests could arrive and depart safely they hadn’t thought it necessary to patrol _inside_ the Vigil. Garevel was equally troubled. As a result of what he saw as their negligence the Hero’s lady was hurt by those seeking to oust him. “I’m sorry Commander, we had a guard posted to prevent trespass into your private quarters; many brought their own servants with them. We thought it best to keep watch outside,” Garevel was troubled.

 

“Before tonight I would have agreed with you,” Alistair conceded. “We are stretched rather thin at the moment.”

 

Zevran entered the room, “You will be most pleased, oh handsome and sexy templar, that none of the servants were involved. In fact they are quite outraged that any would dare lift a finger against the ‘little mistress.’ However they were too busy to observe the comings and goings of others. It would have been quite easy for your guests or those with them to slip away undetected.”

 

“Nathaniel, I know you haven’t been here for a long time but you and Varel know your father’s friends and enemies best. I want you to work together and combine what knowledge you have to identify those most likely to be upset that he’s been replaced.” Young Howe’s nostrils flared at the reminder but he nodded his acquiescense and they left to begin working. Alistair turned to his old friend, “Zevran, how long will you be here?”

 

“Alas, I must leave tomorrow, stalwart warrior,” Zevran smiled lazily. “I would be most happy to point out the weaknesses in your security before I go.”

 

“You always do,” Alistair muttered. Then he spoke up, “I’d appreciate that, Zev. Why don’t you take Ser Mhairi and Captain Garevel with you now to discuss your observations. They’ll need to know.”

 

“I knew you liked me. I shall most enjoy working with two such attractive soldiers,” the Antivan purred. Garevel looked even more uncomfortable when he added, “I always find lovely men and women in uniform to be almost irresistable. Shall we climb your ramparts?”

 

Oghren belched, “Wonder which of ‘em will end up in the elf’s bed. Commander, I don’t like that somebody smashed Cherryplum’s head. I wanna help find the sodding nughumpers and I won’t take no for an answer from some pike-twirler even if you are my boss.” He tilted his chin belligerently, his beard practically quivering in anger.

 

Alistair grinned for the first time in hours, “I wouldn’t dream of it my friend. In fact, I think you’ll enjoy your job. I want you to drink with the men, pick up any gossip. I don’t think they were working with the conspirators but they may have seen or heard something without realizing its importance. When we’re in Amaranthine I want you to visit the taverns. Drink and listen, people underestimate you when they think you’re in your cups. They don’t know your capacity.”

 

“Ha! I can do that. What a great job, being paid to kill darkspawn and to drink.” His expression softened when he looked at Jannasilane, “Glad you’re okay, Cherryplum.” He wandered off to find some drinking buddies.

 

Finally Alistair sat down behind his desk and pulled Jannasilane into his lap. He hugged her and buried his face in her hair for a moment before looking up to see Anders quietly making his way to the door, “Sit down, Anders.” While the mage sat down on the other side of the desk Alistair opened the bottom drawer and pulled out some brandy and glasses. He poured for each of them and pushed the fullest towards the lanky blond. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

 

Surprised by the gesture Anders took a sip before responding, “I’m a healer, Commander. You don’t need to thank me for doing what I do.”

 

“Maybe not,” Alistair shrugged. “I wanted to say it anyway. And I have a favor to ask, you can say no if you don’t want to,” he hastily added when the mage frowned. “Would you spend the night in the room next to us?” both Anders and Jannasilane looked at him in surprise. “I know he healed you, my love,” tenderly he traced her cheekbone, “but I’ll feel better if he’s close by. Getting hit on the head is a tricky thing, that’s one thing I learned traveling with Wynne all those months.”

 

Anders envied the templar in that moment. Not because, or just because, he was holding a desirable woman in his arms and was free to do so, but because they had such a strong connection and understanding. It was something he never had in the Circle, though he supposed his friendship with Karl Thekla came the closest. Alistair was unlike any templar he had ever met. The Commander had given him more than he’d ever had since being taken to the Circle. He had his own bedroom with a door he could lock against intruders and a building he could use as a clinic. He smiled, “I’ll be happy to sleep next to you tonight.”

 

“What? Sexy magic times and I am not invited? This is a travesty and must be addressed,” Zevran grinned wickedly when Alistair and Jannasilane blushed. Anders just smirked. The Commander got another glass while Jannasilane stammered and explained. He nodded his head and sighed, “I understand your concerns. I too would rest easier knowing my favorite bosom is unharmed. But should you wish to reconsider our mage friend here is most attractive with his dark brown eyes, sun-streaked hair and crooked grin; if he is amenable . . . did I ever tell you about this mage I encountered on one of my missions? She had certain little tricks,” he would have continued but Alistair cut him off.

 

“If I wanted to ask him I would do so privately, not in front of an assassin who would then tease me to death,” Alistair grumbled.

 

“You are both very attractive,” Anders drawled, “and I wouldn’t mind confirming that Poppet has the most magnificent bosom in Thedas. I have a lot of good memories involving fantastic bosoms.”

 

“Sexy times with my Ali are always magical,” Jannasilane snickered.

 

“Maker,” Alistair put his hand over her mouth before she could say anything else. “Traveling with Zevran and Blake has definitely corrupted you.” He kissed the top of her head. Zevran and Anders were looking quite pleased with themselves. “Unless you’ve made other arrangements,” he lifted an eyebrow, “help yourself to any of the other rooms in the family quarters. I suppose Mhairi and Garevel are busy plugging all the holes you found.”

 

“Perhaps not all,” the elf leered. Anders burst out laughing, the Commander and Poppet were twin flames. “But yes, I made some suggestions.” He outlined all the changes he thought should be made to tighten security. They finished their brandy in silence before retiring for what was left of the night.


	84. Back from the Wending Wood

Alistair was beginning to think it would be a miracle if they got back to Vigil’s Keep without Velanna and Jannasilane going at each other’s throats. The love of his life didn’t say anything but she wasn’t happy with his decision to make the Dalish mage a Grey Warden. The two women took an immediate dislike to each other.  _“I’m not even sure I want her to survive. She has to atone for her actions and that’s with either her death or serving the Wardens. She’ll never stay as a cousin so she has to undergo the Joining. But Maker, Morrigan is all sweetness and light in comparison.”_

“So, Commander, whaddaya think about this Architect creature?” Oghren frowned. “Sure is strange for a darkspawn; why jail us instead killing us? Not that I’m complaining about being alive,” he muttered and took a swig.

 

“He seemed to want to conduct experiments on us, didn’t he? I remember waking up briefly and I was strapped to a table. He talked to me and said he would explain later . . . I suppose I could have dreamed that part but it doesn’t feel like a dream,” Alistair mused. “I gathered up all the notes and journals I could find; hopefully they’ll give us more information. At least the merchants don’t need to worry anymore and Mistress Woolsey should be glad we got a trader to come to the Keep. I’ll tell you one thing; I’m not sure all the darkspawn attacks are from him.”

 

“Huh, maybe the others are just normal ones,” the dwarf did not sound convinced. Alistair just shrugged.

 

“You’re just prejudiced against the Dalish,” Velanna was arguing, or taunting, Jannasilane.

 

Jannasilane sneered, “No. I do not like small-minded, petty, vindictive and selfish people. I have met Dalish before and they were observant and intelligent.  You act like a . . . a shem.”

 

“Take that back!” Velanna screeched.

 

Jannasilane just walked away, tired of the woman and annoyed with herself for bothering to argue with her. She ended up alongside Nathaniel Howe, his silence a welcome balm after the irritable elf.

 

Nathaniel looked down at her in surprise; he knew she didn’t fully trust him yet because of what he said about killing Alistair. In fact, he suspected one reason she didn’t like the pretty, blonde elf was that she attacked the Commander. He’d come to respect her and Alistair over the last several days. The Warden-Commander had a difficult task but he never forgot to be kind when he could, such as promising to help him find his sister when they were in Amaranthine and offering a sympathetic ear when he found out about Adria. There was certainly no doubt that the staff adored her; he couldn’t remember ever hearing friendly banter and laughter in the halls of his father. “How old are you?” he asked abruptly.

 

She blinked, startled, “I am eighteen as of two months ago. Why do you ask?”

 

 _“I did not realize she is so very young. At that age I was arguing with my father about squiring me out of Ferelden, teasing Delilah and doing my share of carousing with Fergus. That was such a long time ago,”_ he thought wistfully. He shrugged, “I was wondering where you got your skills fighting dragons. They weren’t the largest dragons but there were two of them controlled by the Architect.”

 

“That reminds me, Commander, can we expect to see dragons working with the darkspawn?” Anders was worried.

 

Alistair smiled ruefully, “Not as a rule but I’m not sure how much of what we’re going to encounter is by the proverbial book. We encountered more than one dragon before the Archdemon but the only ones in thrall to an emissary were at or near Fort Drakon. I think it must take intelligence and a great deal of willpower to hold a dragon; the Archdemon can share that or at least give the smarter ones enough focus.”

 

“Then it is good we have an excellent fighter of dragons with us but I repeat, where do you come by your skills, Mouse? Ferelden certainly doesn’t have a long history of hunting dragons and you are definitely not from Nevarra.”

 

She shrugged, “I do not know, this is truth. The first time we met a high dragon I just knew that I was meant to fight the beast. Fighting dragons is most exciting and for some reason makes me feel powerful and sexy.”

 

Anders smiled lazily, “You always look powerful and sexy to me, Poppet.”

 

“You got that right, Sparklefingers,” Oghren leered.

 

Velanna was impressed but determined not to show it, “The _first_ time you encountered a high dragon? Just how many high dragons did you meet?” she asked skeptically.

 

“Three,” Alistair answered. “Though technically speaking I don’t know if you can count two of them. One was the Archdemon and the other was . . . something else.”

 

“You’re talking about Flemeth, the old witch in the Korcari Wilds, aren’t ya?” Oghren grunted. “Zevran said she was a powerful something, that’s for sure. Sorry I missed it,” he belched.

 

“My clan knows of the Witch of the Wilds; we call her Asha'belannar, the woman of many years,” Velanna said thoughtfully. “I don’t know if they’ve heard of this Flemeth.”

 

“I think they’re the same,” Alistair was glad the elf wasn’t raging against humans and generally acting like a viper towards the rest of them. “According to Morrigan she’s lived for centuries.”

 

The Dalish frowned, “You are lucky to be alive. The tales of people who encountered her do not end well . . . _for them_.”

 

“Apparently she had her reasons,” Alistair said darkly.

 

“She thought my Ali was too pretty,” Jannasilane’s smile was pure innocence but the twinkle in her eyes gave her away.

 

Alistair visibly shuddered, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

 

“Do not worry, my Ali, I shall protect you.”

 

He scowled at her before picking her up and spinning around with her over his shoulder, “But who’s going to protect me from you, miserable minx.” Her screams mixed with laughter until he finally stopped. He slid her down so they were face to face. She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward until their lips met.

 

“Ugh, you humans and your irrepressible impulses,” Velanna complained. “Are they always like that? I thought Grey Wardens were supposed to be serious and grim, consumed by their duty.”

 

Oghren began snickering, “The stories I could tell, *bu-u-urp*, there was one night . . .” Even the prickly elf had to laugh at some of his stories, though she didn’t believe them all.

 

When they reached Vigil’s Keep Seneschal Varel cornered Alistair, “Commander, I’ve held it off as long as I could but we must convene the court. As our Arl you are the one who dispenses justice on several matters.” Alistair sighed but knew it must be done. He rather thought this would be one of the things he would like the least about his new status. At least he’d get a chance to bathe, eat and sleep first.

 

“You need to stop arguing with Velanna, my love,” Alistair told her later that night. “I agreed to help find her sister in return for her becoming a Grey Warden. It was either that or execute her for her crimes. And she understands if she doesn’t cooperate, I will do just that. ”

 

Jannasilane’s eyes flashed, “She lashed out like an angry child and people are dead. She didn’t bother to think about the evidence placed under her nose or she would have known something was not right. It was too easy to blame humans and ignore any inconsistencies. She does not even appear to be sorry.” She stopped and took a deep breath, “but if I am to be honest I am not sure that she is truthful when she claims not to care. She also attacked you when you did not leave as she _commanded_ ,” she finished angrily.

 

Alistair smiled, “You’ll keep her in line, my powerful, sexy dragon slayer. Feel better now?”

 

“One more thing,” she jumped into his arms. “If I am to protect you then I think I should stay very close to you tonight.”

 

“What a good idea,” he murmured before claiming those full lips with his. He laid her down and caressed her with his gaze while he ever so slowly undressed her. “When I saw you in Nate’s shirt it reminded me of that first night in camp after we met. You looked so adorable and so sexy in one of my old shirts I had trouble sleeping. I envied that stupid shirt because it was where I longed to be, next to your skin, holding your breasts, cupping your glorious rear.” He quickly finished disrobing and began kissing her breasts before wrapping his lips around one rosy nipple and worshipping until it was a hard peak of desire.

 

“Ali . . . oh . . . before we got together I sometimes p-pretended it was you,” she gasped.

 

Love, lust, tenderness – they were all in his gaze when he looked at her, “I love you, Jannasilane Alenahaella. You are fierce,” he traced one of her scars with his finger, “and sweet,” he lightly kissed the small freckles dotting her cheeks, “and the only woman I will ever love. Marry me,” he asked.

 

She pushed him back and gained control long enough to frame his face, “I love you, Warden-Commander Alistair Theirin, my Ali. Always,” pain and regret made her eyes dark. “You know I will not. I want, with all my heart, to be with you as long as we both draw breath but I will not make promises I cannot keep. I am sorry,” she ended on a whisper.

 

He was disappointed but not surprised; it wasn’t the first time he’d asked and she said no. He kissed her, “One day you’ll change your mind.” She could feel him smiling against her lips. “But now you’re going to have to catch me if you want to feel me inside you.”

 

She gaped when he got off the bed and stood there in all his naked glory, taunting her. She narrowed her eyes at him and then smiled a smile of pure feline wickedness. She lightly rubbed her fingers across her causing him to hiss and his manhood strain to attention, “If that is what you want my Ali. I shall hunt and ride your dragon,” she pounced.

 

He quickly moved away and the chase was on. With his long legs he could easily bound onto and across the bed. The room was filled with the sounds of taunting, cursing and laughing; so much so they didn’t hear the strident voice in the hall or the pounding of footsteps. “Commander,” the door opened at the same time Jannasilane leapt. She and Alistair crashed onto the floor of the hall.

 

“Ow,” Alistair muttered and looked up into the faces of Anders, Oghren, Nathaniel, Mhairi, Seneschal Varel and Captain Garevel. Some of them were grinning. “There better be a damn good reason for this,” he demanded. He felt somebody moving underneath him and debated letting him or her smother but his better nature took over. He stood and helped his love to her feet.

 

“I’m sorry, Commander,” Seneschal Varel spoke first, “we tried to stop her.” One good thing about working under Renden Howe was he had learned how to conceal his emotions, a talent he needed now. He was irritated with the elf, embarrassed that she intruded on their Commander in a private moment, and amused at the stupefied look on her face as she stared up at the justifiably annoyed warrior.

 

Mhairi and Garevel were trying not to look at the Commander and his lady but were finding it difficult. At a nod from Varel they quietly eased away, relieved not to be party to whatever was going to happen. Once they were out of earshot, she finally spoke, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I could use a drink.” Garevel agreed.

 

Alistair crossed his arms and refused to help the elf to her feet despite his ingrained chivalry. “Is anyone dying?” They all shook their head. “Is the Vigil under attack?” Once again, everybody shook their head. “Then what in Andraste’s name are you doing barging into my bedroom?” he thundered. Everybody looked at Velanna.

 

Velanna continued to stare at Alistair with wide eyes, _“He’s so big, and naked. I thought the armor was a lot of it, I didn’t know any Shem could be so huge. And naked. And she’s naked . . . they were . . . Creators help me,”_ she was mortified. She had a hard time gathering her thoughts. She started to speak but could only stutter, “I, that is . . . I was . . .  and he keeps . . .”

 

Under other circumstances Alistair would have flushed from head to toe at being naked in front of all these people but he was still too angry, “In other words you _have_ no good reason. Varel, would you escort her to her room and make sure she stays there until morning?”

 

“Certainly, Commander,” he gently took the Dalish elf by the arm.

 

She made no move to leave until Jannasilane stepped forward. She was grateful her hair was long enough to cover her private bits. Jealous at the effect her Ali had on the elf she wanted the other woman gone. She was further irritated at having to look up at her. She jabbed Velanna on the shoulder, “Go,” she hissed. “Now.” Finally, Velanna began to come to her senses and she blushed a vivid red and stumbled away with Varel.

 

Anders didn’t bother hiding his amusement or his appreciation of the well-apportioned flesh in front of him but now that the disruptance called Velanna was gone, his healing instincts came to the fore. “Commander, your head took a hard knock on the stone floor. Let me make sure you’re alright and then I’ll get out of your way.” He winked at Jannasilane.

 

Until the healer spoke the words, Alistair was too angry to feel bruised. He felt the back of his skull and winced a little at the bump forming. “Very well,” he sighed in resignation. “Wardens,” he nodded politely and shut the door.

 

“Wonder if Sparklefingers will try to seduce one of ‘em; Cherryplum is looking good enough to eat,” Oghren waggled his beard suggestively. Unfortunately, it had the effect of fanning his brand of hygiene.

 

Nathaniel coughed. He wasn’t about to enter into speculations about somebody else’s intimate activities, especially with the dwarf. He couldn’t help wondering; even he had to admit Alistair was as fine an example of masculine attractiveness as Jannasilane was of the feminine. _“I wonder if Blake was able to restrain himself,”_ he couldn’t help thinking. _“Oghren may be right about Anders; he reminds me a little of Blake. But it’s none of my business,”_ he shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I’ve never felt puny before,” Nathaniel finally remarked. “Alistair must be one of the few people who look bigger without clothes than with.” He hoped the warrior wasn’t one to hold a grudge. He didn’t know if he liked the Dalish girl but he didn’t want her to suffer unduly.

 

Oghren let out one large belch and snickered, “The Antivan told me something once. Thought for sure he was making it up but now I’m not so sure.” He regaled Howe with Zevran’s version of Alistair and Cherryplum’s experiment with dwarven ale. He even got the sullen rogue to laugh aloud, something Nathaniel hadn’t done in far too long.


	85. Different Types of Justice

Velanna knew she wouldn’t be able to look at either Alistair or Jannasilane without blushing. She wanted to blame Oghren but she’d had all night to think. Oghren was foul smelling, uncouth, irritating, inappropriate and unhygienic. The truth, she finally admitted to herself, was that she’d really been hoping to find a way out: a way out of becoming a Grey Warden, a way out this stone fortress that made her feel closed in, a way out of the company of all these shemlen. She had one desire; find Seranni. _“I panicked. That’s exactly what I did. All these shem, these soldiers . . . I find it hard to breathe in here. The flat ears aren’t any better; they actually seem to like the Warden-Commander and that, that female. Martiello is envious that he’s not to undergo this Joining ritual but he doesn’t resent the Commander for holding him back. I don’t understand. Ilshae used to tell me I was too temperamental and didn’t think before I acted. Was the Keeper right? And if she was . . .”_

When Nathaniel came to get her for the Joining, he noticed large circles under her eyes. She didn’t seem inclined to talk so he said nothing beyond a simple, “Good morning.” He was glad she didn’t ask any questions because he knew he couldn’t tell her anything. She was so prickly she’d be bound to think any secrecy was some sort of plot against her.

 

“Velanna,” Alistair nodded.

 

His voice was so cool she almost shivered, but she couldn’t really blame him after the previous night. She blushed just as she predicted and knew she had to say something but she hated having to apologize to a shem. “Commander,” she couldn’t look him in the eye so stared into the space over his shoulder. “I apologize for my intrusion last night. I was . . . disturbed and didn’t think. It won’t happen again unless there’s a real emergency. I,” she snapped her mouth closed. _“I’ve said I was sorry. I’m not going to say anymore, he can take it or leave it.”_

_“Well, that certainly won’t go down in history as the most gracious apology in the world,”_ Alistair snickered inwardly. Outwardly he maintained his sober expression, “Now we begin . . .” After it was over he sighed and stared at the unconscious elf. “Nathaniel, would you take her to her room and stay with her? Varel will send you some food. I need to eat breakfast and then get ready to dispense justice. Should be fun,” he left the room. Nathaniel almost smiled at the Commander’s distinctly unenthusiastic tone of voice.

 

Jannasilane agreed that, since he’d worn his dress Grey Warden armor for the fealty ceremony he should wear clothes suitable to his role as Arl for presiding over the court. “You look most commanding and in-charge as well as handsome, my Ali,” Jannasilane smiled in approval. “Those colors are most attractive on you.” She liked the dark green pants and cream shirt with a thin green vine stripe. Over it, he wore the raw gold leather tunic and sash patterned in Amaranthine colors.

 

He turned to face her, “Do I really look like somebody with the authority to make decisions? I tried to remember what Fergus told me but I feel silly.”

 

She hugged him, “You are just nervous. I know you will do just fine, my most wonderful Ali. You are fair, smart, and know right from wrong; these must surely be the most important qualities for a good judge. Captain Garevel and Seneschal Varel will be by your side to offer you any advice or explanations you require.”

 

Alistair bent to kiss her, “At least I’ll be able to look at you among the guards. If I get bored, I’ll just imagine taking that robe off you. I love how it highlights the sway of your hips.”

 

“How did I get involved with such a wicked man?” she snickered with a smile.

 

“We both got lucky,” he said and, sighing, straightened, “but now I must do my duty.”

 

The throne room was crowded when Alistair walked in flanked by Captain Garevel and Seneschal Varel. Many were farmers, peasants or merchants who hadn’t seen their new Arl before. Alistair smiled at the crowd and murmured a question, “Is it normal to have this many cases? Just how often did Howe convene court?”

 

Varel coughed slightly, “There are more cases than usual but some of these people are here to see the Hero of Ferelden, not as involved parties.” Mistress Woolsey was also watching the proceedings, though for the life of him Varel couldn’t think of a reason. She made no secret of the fact that she wasn’t sure about Alistair’s fitness to command and she definitely didn’t approve of his relationship with Jannasilane.

 

“Good thing I don’t have drool on my chin,” the Hero muttered. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

 

The Seneschal announced the first case, beginning a long and steady stream of cases interrupted only by short, scheduled breaks so Alistair could eat and review any new reports or other arling business. Varel deliberately called the simplest cases first, not to allow the Commander to get comfortable in his role but so he could get a sense of the arbiter. If he ever had to preside in Alistair’s stead, he wanted to know how the other man would most likely rule. One thing impressed him immediately; Alistair paid close attention to what every involved party had to say. Even the lowest thief whose guilt was undeniable had his full attention.  Varel called the most sensitive case last, “Commander, Lady Liza Packton -”

 

A smartly dressed woman glided forward, “I prefer to speak for myself.” She spoke softly but firmly, “The late Arl Renden Howe made certain  . . . promises to me, some of which he put down in writing. Here are his papers conferring ownership of the lands around and including the southern bridge to me.” While a guard brought the papers to Alistair for review a man came striding to the front, angrily claiming they were _his_ lands and had been in his family for generations.

 

Alistair supposed some would find the woman attractive but he thought she looked brittle and, _“smarmy,”_ he decided. _“She looks smarmy. Obviously my Janna is not impressed with her.”_ He studied the documents now in his hands.

 

“Commander,” Captain Garevel urgently whispered, “Ser Derren is one of the few who wholeheartedly supported your appointment. We can’t afford to alienate him.”

 

Varel was just as adamant, “If you want the nobles on your side they need to see that you’ll be fair. The documents are legal.”

 

“They’re legal, _as far as they go,_ ” Alistair whispered back, silencing both men. “Lady Packton, it is clear that these are valuable properties. Why did Howe want to transfer them to you?”

 

She widened her eyes in feigned innocence, “His Lordship and I had many business transactions over the years. This was simply the latest one.” She was sure she won when Alistair smiled at her. _“He is certainly more attractive than my late friend I wonder if I can . . . entice him with the experience of a mature woman.”_

 

“Then you can show me the contract,” Alistair bit his cheek not to start laughing at her umbrage. “If this is simply payment for services rendered or part of a business transaction then I need to see the rest. Do you have it with you? If not my men will gladly escort you to your home and wait while you retrieve it . . . it shouldn’t take more than five or ten minutes after you arrive, right?” he smiled as charmingly as he knew how without feeling like a fool.

 

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she felt like spitting out the words but restrained herself. “It was a verbal contract. He documented the transfer for my protection.”

 

“Hmm,” Alistair frowned. “Arl Howe was a traitor; a written contract whose legality could be ascertained would be convenient. For your protection, of course, I’d hate to see a lovely lady plagued by rumors of possible treason. However, it may not matter.” He turned his attention to the current owner of the properties, “Ser Derren, were you behind on any of your tithes to your Arl?”

 

“No, my lord,” the Bann stated firmly. “Frankly, it was difficult but I didn’t dare ask for relief or even a small delay.”

 

“Did Arl Howe ever charge you with any sort of crime? Sedition, cheating, disturbing the peace, trespass against your neighbors, violating the terms of any contracts or business dealings, anything at all. Seneschal Varel will be able to verify your answer,” Alistair stared closely at the man, examining him for any sign of deceit.

 

Ser Derren bridled at the question, “Commander, I have always been honest in my dealings. I made no secret of my support of King Cailan and the Grey Wardens or that I considered Loghain’s actions to be an affront to all decent Fereldans and even his own history. Arl Howe didn’t like my opinions but I never failed to do my duty.”

 

“He speaks truly, Commander,” Varel affirmed. “Arl Howe never charged him with any crime and Ser Derren was never late in any of the duties owed.”

 

“Lady Packton, I regret to inform you that you have been cheated. Arl Howe had no rights to these properties therefore cannot legally transfer them to you. Whether he did so willfully or in ignorance of the law, the fact remains that I cannot use these papers to enforce a change of property rights. If there had been some sort of formal proceeding against Ser Derren and his properties seized as a result then Arl Howe would have had the right to give them to whomever he chose. Since the two of you are before me today, in a formal act of arbitration, I legally have the power to take them for myself. It’s an ancient precedent and one not commonly used. The overriding principle of justice is that property cannot be arbitrarily taken from one person and given to another – not even by a king. This has been the case since Calenhad first forged the warring tribes into one nation of free men. We are Fereldans; Ser Derren, the properties in question remain yours. Lady Packton, I am sorry for your inconvenience and mistreatment by the late Arl.”

 

“I shall speak to Bann Esmerelle of this,” Liza Packton said angrily.

 

“You are disappointed, so I won’t take offense. But remember this, I do not answer to Bann Esmerelle,” Alistair hoped the woman understood his warning. “Captain Garevel, Lady Packton is overwrought, please see that she gets home safely.” _“And give her time to calm down,”_ he thought.

 

“We’re done,” Varel said. “Maker, I hope we don’t have another day like this for a long time. I was unaware that an Arl needs to impose some sort of sanction before taking control of a Bann’s property.”

 

“Admittedly it’s a grey area,” Alistair replied. “In times of war property can be, and has been, seized but it’s not a common practice and not always a wise one, in my opinion. Nor does it quite fit the case here. That sort of high-handedness just breeds revolt. When I was at Highever, I learned a lot from Fergus and the remnants of his library. I’ve always enjoyed history and it certainly came in handy today.” Alistair was glad to see a hot meal and wine on the table.

 

 “Commander, Danella should have been executed for desertion,” Garevel protested upon his return. Alistair motioned for him to sit down and eat. The weary captain did so but he was determined to voice his opinion, “I worry that it will lead to more leaving their posts.”

 

“Danella was too popular with the other soldiers,” Varel argued. “And her reasons . . . she’s not the only one with family, as you pointed out yourself. These men, they weren’t trained to handle monsters but your basic thieves and brutes.”

 

Alistair listened to them debate his decisions about Danella and the shepherd Alec while he ate. Garevel was glad to have another soldier but was a bit concerned about the man’s dedication once gratitude wore off. Varel thought showing mercy proved the Commander was not another Renden Howe. Once the first edge of his hunger was sated, he relaxed a bit, “Alec will do fine. He’s young, strong and motivated by the desire to provide for his family. The crown will receive payment for the lost grain, which is why he won’t receive full pay until he’s been in service a year. That’s enough to pay for the grain plus a hefty fine. He and his family may have to scrape the first year but they will survive and we have another soldier to fill our depleted ranks. Too bad he didn’t try to join earlier,” he mused.

 

“Renden Howe would never have accepted a simple farmer into his army,” Varel informed him in a tone dry as dust.

 

“He’s right,” Nathaniel remarked. He’d been watching to see how Alistair ruled. Even when he was young, he'd never wanted to be a subject of his father’s judgment. Mercy was not a virtue Renden Howe held close. “My father believed the only soldiers worth having were those trained from an early age.” Alistair slid a platter down the table and the rogue deftly stopped it and helped himself. “Velanna is sleeping normally, Commander.” Alistair nodded.

 

Jannasilane joined the discussion, “Captain, there was much tension among your men when this Danella’s case was brought forward. I could feel it down my back like a wolf’s howl. When my Ali stripped her of her rank and sent her to the dungeon instead of executing her it popped, just disappeared.”

 

“Garevel, I appreciate your concerns. Desertion is a crime I take seriously. Did she truly desert? Or leave without permission? She didn’t leave during battle. If she’s as good a scout as you say I’m not sure we would have found her if she really deserted. I opted to go with the lesser crime.” Alistair frowned a little as he cut more cheese and bread, “Actually, her situation brings up something I think we should address. At Ostagar King Cailan,” he paused, “King Cailan spent a lot of time with the soldiers, just talking or playing cards. He listened to them. I noticed that they seemed more dedicated, or more self-confident afterwards. I didn’t really think much of it at the time but since then I’ve thought about it a lot. According to Danella, your predecessor refused to listen to her repeated requests to check on her family. Based on your knowledge, is that probably true?”

 

Reluctantly Garevel agreed, “I believe so, Commander. He was a firm follower of Howe’s dictate not to coddle the troops and Danella’s request would come under this category.”

 

“I am not Renden Howe and the people of Amaranthine need to see this,” Alistair replied mildly. “My point about Danella is that others are likely to have similar concerns. I don’t want any more desertions or absences because our men think we see them as nothing more than pincushions for enemy swords. I want to instill in them the same sense of pride Cailan did in the men at Ostagar. Even if I wasn’t going to be traveling a lot on Warden business . . . I’m not Cailan.” He rubbed his hand down the back of his head, “I don’t have his ability to talk to people. Maybe we can, I don’t know, change how we do some things so the men know they’re valued.”

 

“Yes, Commander, I’ll think on it. Ser Mhairi has a good rapport with them; maybe she will have some ideas.”

 

Nathaniel leaned down to whisper in Jannasilane’s ear, “Mouse, does Alistair really not see how the men react to him? It’s just how he described the soldiers at Ostagar.”

 

Jannasilane studied the taciturn rogue. He seemed genuinely perplexed; perhaps Alistair was right about him. “You and Cailan were born and raised with the self-confidence of those who know they have a place in the world. My Ali was not,” she whispered back and waited to see if he understood what she meant but she wasn’t going to explain further. He was considering her words but otherwise kept his thoughts hidden.

 

“We should tell Alistair of our suspicions, my lady,” he stated. Nathaniel grit his teeth just thinking about it, “Commander, there is another matter we need to discuss. It involves Ser Temmerly.” The man was in a cell until the investigation into Ser Tamra’s murder was complete.

 

Alistair curled his lip in distaste. He had quickly recognized the type of man standing before the court. Arrogance oozed out of his skin, that and a disdain for so-called ‘lesser’ beings. He was one of Amaranthine’s minor nobles and a large man as well, perhaps larger than Alistair himself. The Commander had no doubt he used his size and strength to intimidate those who couldn’t or didn’t dare stand up to him. “Ser Temmerly isn’t a friend of yours, is he? If so my opinion of you is going to go down.”

 

“No, my Ali,” Jannasilane shook her head. “While you investigate his involvement in Ser Tamra’s murder you should also look into his other activities. I cannot say for sure but he sounded like one of the conspirators against you.”

 

Alistair stopped eating and stared at her. “You mean one of the bastards who hit you?” he growled. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

 

“That was my doing, Commander,” Nathaniel spoke up. “I didn’t want to risk alerting any others who might have been around. We still don’t know who they are.”

 

“Probably wise,” Alistair admitted reluctantly. “Captain, we should increase the guard around the Vigil. If he is part of the conspiracy I don’t want his fellows trying to break him out of his cell.” When Garevel started to get up Alistair waved him back down, “You have time to finish eating, my friend. I doubt the word has spread _that_ fast.” The intense young captain flushed at the good-natured chuckles aimed at him but smiled sheepishly and sat back down.


	86. On to the Blackmarsh

“Are you sure this ‘Dark Wolf’ is on our side, Commander? He hasn’t told us anything useful, just confirmed what we already suspected,” Nathaniel was dubious. In his experience, self-styled spies were too often rank opportunists and just as likely to stab you in the back if the pay was good enough. Although he couldn’t shake the feeling this one was different. There was something familiar about him . . .

 

“Well, we know at least one of them has money. They hired Antivan Crows, after all, and that doesn’t come cheap. He also said he has a pretty good idea where they meet and he’ll tell us as soon as he confirms the information. We also know that at least half a dozen of the local nobles are involved. Which is rather more than I hoped was the case,” Alistair frowned.

 

“All you need is one leader with influence. Favors, past allegiances, family or business ties . . . your surface nobles aren’t so different from the deshyrs in Orzammar. Not everyone who supported Bhelen did so because they believed he was right for the job, you know,” Oghren burped and stopped leering at Velanna long enough to provide his opinion. “Once you take care of the leader you’ll find the others backing down.” He pointed his finger at the former templar, “But there will always be somebody looking to profit off ya, or feel you’ve offended their delicate sensibilities, or think they could do better. So get used to watching your back.”

 

Alistair sighed, “You sound like Zevran. And you’re both right; certainly, the year Blake and I spent building up an army while dodging assassins and bounty hunters gives me _some_ experience. I just wish,” his voice trailed off and he shrugged his shoulders.

 

Velanna muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath and Jannasilane whirled on her, “You are no better, elf girl. _You_ betrayed your Keeper.”

 

“I did no such thing!” Velanna puffed up in outrage, “I spoke my mind. I still say we shouldn’t let the shem walk all over us.”

 

Jannasilane eyed her without mercy, “But you did not stop there. You left. I bet your Keeper felt betrayed; more so when others joined you and so weakened the clan with your absence.”

 

Velanna glared but didn’t say anything. She had the unfortunate feeling that Ilshae did indeed feel betrayed when she and the others left. It was never good for a clan to lose several of its hunters; humans would find it easier to attack her clan until they could rebuild. It wasn't just humans, the woods and forests held plenty of dangers for travelers.

 

Anders was uncharacteristically quiet. He was reflecting on an offer and an explanation. A few days earlier Poppet was helping him to set up his clinic. It was the first time he’d been alone with the small exotic woman so he took advantage of the opportunity to flirt with her a bit. _“And that was really all I meant to do, just have a little fun,”_ he thought.

 

_She was sitting on top of the table looking around at the results of their labors; labors that mussed her blue robe and streaked it with dust. The bottles sparkled prettily on their shelves, waiting to be filled with potions. Some of the herbs were carefully packed away in drawers and others were hanging from the ceiling to dry. Clean sheets and blankets covered two narrow beds behind a curtain. He’d use some of the lemonweed they found in the Wending Wood to clean the newly swept floor. “I never thought to use lemonweed for cleaning,” he smiled._

_“I did not know it could be used with elfroot to remove poison from a wound,” she retorted with a grin._

_“Thank you, milady, for your assistance and bounty. I am most appreciative,” he took her hand and bent to kiss it. Just before doing so, he looked at her mischievously, “If you ever decide to sample the delights a mage can offer . . .” and the moment he touched the back of her hand with his lips he tickled her palm with his fingertips, fingers that were sending little sparks of electricity. Neither of them was prepared for her reaction. Mild pleasure, giggling, or possibly nothing at all but instead she went into a state he could only call high arousal: her nipples were hard peaks, her breathing was shallow and she vibrated from the small tremors traveling across her skin. He was so close he could smell her desire. “I’m sorry, Poppet,” he started to apologize and made the mistake of looking into her eyes. They were swirling with heat and he was mesmerized. She licked her lips and that was it, he had to claim them, even against his better judgment. He sank into her warmth, caging her with his arms. Her fingers curled into the front of his robe, pulling him closer. He wasn’t even aware that he was pushing her clothes off her shoulders until he bared her beautiful full breasts to his gaze. The urge to taste consumed him._

_Jannasilane arched her back to grant him better access even as she struggled to contain the Beast unleashed by his little trick. She whimpered as his skilled mouth and fingers played her breasts and sent a continual stream of sensation through her core. That whimper caused Anders to pause, which gave her the opening to push him away. She slid off the table and crumpled to the floor, clutching her stomach. She looked at the appalled mage. She couldn’t stop the tears of pain and shame, “Get, get my Ali,” she gasped. She lowered her head so she could hide her face behind her hair. She cringed when he reached for her._

_“I’m sorry, Sweeting. I just want to help you to one of the cots. Let me help you pull your robe back on and get you settled then I’ll find Alistair. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he didn’t understand what happened and he knew he had to do something before he left the building so nobody could see his erection. Being near her wasn’t helping but he wasn’t going to leave her on the floor like that._

 

_He didn’t think he would ever forget the expression on Alistair’s face when he walked into the clinic and saw Poppet; it was such a mix of anger, tenderness, disappointment but most of all love. The big man knelt and softly brushed her hair back from her face, “The Beast?” She nodded. He sighed, “What happened? It’s certainly not because we haven’t been . . ._

 

“It wasn’t your fault; you couldn’t know what I did not know myself,” Jannasilane’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. He didn’t realize he had dropped so far behind the others. He looked at her unhappily and she shook her head at him, “No, my Anders. Neither my Ali nor I blame you. If anyone is at fault, it is me. I think my Ali is correct, you are now a Warden and a spirit healer, a magic I find most pleasant. If I did not also think you an attractive man, though not as handsome as my Ali, I do not know if I would have been quite so sensitive to your little ‘sparklefingers’ trick. If Oghren only knew,” she giggled at the thought.

 

He couldn’t help smiling at her, “You, Poppet, are an amazing woman. I’ve never heard of such magic as you described but it’s hardly something they would teach at the Circle even if they knew of it. It’s dangerous knowledge indeed. I’m appalled that any mage would use it against your mother like that. And that you suffer from the effects,” he sighed heavily.

 

“I wish . . .” she began and then changed her mind. She was glad Anders seemed to accept their alternative version of her family history as devised by Blake and Zevran. They replaced centuries of Griffonsong with a proud blood mage rejected by her mother in favor of the young Grey Warden, Duncan. In retaliation he cursed her with an enhanced lust for Grey Wardens, not caring that she was pregnant. It sounded like one of the novels Wynne liked to read but Zevran assured her that nobody would quiz her on such an intimate subject, especially since the actual events happened before she was born. “Well, we try to make the best of it. We will not force you, Anders. If you do not wish to,” Jannasilane blushed. She sometimes wished she could speak of such things as lightly as Zevran did. “The only thing we ask is your discretion. I will not shame my Ali,” her eyes sparked with temper.

 

“Well,” he drawled, “I can’t think of any more pleasant way to be of service. Perhaps we should explore the limits of your sensitivity to magic. Forewarned is forearmed, you know.”

 

She snickered, “You are as bad as Zevran, I think.”

 

“What are you and Sparklefingers jabbering about,” Oghren joined them. He was tired of the loud silence between Velanna and the Howe cub.

 

“I was about to explain why ‘Sparklefingers’ is such an apt nickname. I was at the Pearl . . .” Oghren grinned appreciatively and then guffawed when Jannasilane blushed fiercely and scurried to join Alistair at the front of their little group. When the Commander looked back at them with raised eyebrow Anders smiled crookedly and tilted his head slightly.

 

“Yer don’t have a nug’s chance in the middle of a gaggle of darkspawn, Sparklefingers,” the dwarf warned the mage. “She’ll never leave the Commander.”

 

Anders looked down at the dwarf and grinned, “I know that. There’s nothing wrong with admiring the view, especially such a spectacular one. Flirting and making her blush is just a bonus.”

 

“Hah! Can’t argue with that. Had a lot to look at while traveling with the Wardens, even if one of ‘em was on the prickly side.” The rest of the way to the Blackmarsh they entertained each other and those within hearing of their adventures on the road and on the run.

 

The environment changed drastically once they were close to the Blackmarsh. Away from the coast Amaranthine was mostly farm and woodlands with a scattering of drier, sandier areas. The Blackmarsh was different. The Wardens stopped talking and looked around warily, fighting to adjust to the heavy, damp air that seemed to be telling them to go back. “My father used to tell me stories of the Blackmarsh. There used to be an entire village here but it disappeared overnight. Nobody ever found out what happened and the Blackmarsh has been deserted ever since. At least of people,” Nathaniel said in a hushed voice.

 

“The Veil is thin here,” Velanna warned.

 

“On a creepiness scale this is definitely a 10, maybe even an 11,” Anders tried to quip. Oghren just grunted and looked around with wide, slightly crazed eyes.

 

“I used to dream of coming here and making things right. Little boy dreams,” Nathaniel smiled slightly.

 

Jannasilane looked up at him and fully smiled at him for the first time, “You wanted to be a hero? That’s cute.”

 

“Don’t all little boys?” the rogue answered.

 

“Well, you’re doing that now, in a way, aren’t you?” Alistair was happy to see that Jannasilane finally seemed to accept Nathaniel. He was convinced the man had a strong core of honor and would be an excellent Warden in the years to come. He heard wolves howling in the night and sincerely hoped they would be the worst thing he and his companions faced.“Actually, this reminds me of parts of the Korcari Wilds. What do you think, Jannalove? You’ve been there a few times.”

 

She nodded her head, “Yes, some pockets of the Wilds are as dark and heavy as this Blackmarsh. There are probably many lost secrets in the rotting mud.”

 

“Rotting mud? That’s disgusting,” the Dalish mage exclaimed. “You’re probably right, though. Be careful of things reaching for you out of the muck.” She was utterly perplexed when the Commander and Hair Girl burst out laughing while the others were searching the wet ground for signs of movement.

 

“Remember when we took Zevran and Leliana to the Korcari Wilds? They thought the same thing and you told them . . . you told them the creatures only came out at night,” Alistair gasped.

 

Jannasilane giggled, “Leliana was checking every pond and mud puddle for days.”

 

Oghren glared at the two of them, “You and the elf have a strange sense of humor, Cherryplum.” His dour mood didn’t lighten when they both scowled back at him.


	87. Not Exactly a Recruit, No

They were tired, dirty, and frankly still creeped out by their experience in the Fade and their newest member. Justice/Kristoff trudged along in the rear, constantly looking around him at the new world he now inhabited, thanks to the Baroness.

 

“Dwarves don’t belong in the Fade,” Oghren kept muttering over and over. He also stroked the dragon skull they picked up as if to remind himself he was back in the real world. Anders and Nathaniel were teasing Jannasilane about how much she enjoyed fighting the spirit dragon in an effort not to think about what happened with the darkspawn. “With you around I’m surprised Alistair had a chance to hit the Archdemon,” Nathaniel said drily.

 

“Well, I couldn’t let her have all the fun, now could I? How manly would that be?” Alistair retorted and took her aside so he could perform another mana cleanse. One benefit to being forced into the Fade was the equipment they found to repair the tears in the Veil; the drawback was they were all guarded by desire demons.

 

“Commander,” Velanna scowled, “in the short time since we met you’ve walked into three,” she counted them off on her fingers, “three traps. Is this a Grey Warden thing or a you thing?”

 

“You know,” Oghren stopped reassuring himself all his parts returned and were in working order long enough to join in the conversation, “that’s a good question. Sexy-but-Scrawny here doesn’t even know about all the traps you and the Warden tripped over. I thought it might be him, His sodding Majesty, but he’s not here.”

 

“Sometimes you can really get to know your enemy that way,” Alistair deadpanned. He winked at Janna and she snickered.

 

“I know I am new to this world but doesn’t that seem unwise?” Justice frowned in confusion.

 

Anders laughed, “Justice, one thing you need to know about this side of the Veil is that a lot of things don’t make sense.”

 

“If you know it’s a trap then you may have the opportunity to turn it against your enemy,” Nathaniel offered. “Or you could just like fighting against the odds, which does seem like a Grey Warden trait now that I think about it.”

 

A few miles further on they defeated another band of assassins and others were looting the bodies when Justice finally decided to ask the Commander’s lady a question. “You disapprove of me being here, of the Commander’s decision to let me fight darkspawn alongside you? Is it because Kristoff’s body is decaying?”

 

Jannasilane sighed, “I know it is not your fault but it is not right that you are here. Perhaps my Ali is correct, that since you are here and cannot be tainted, re-tainted, you might as well fight along with us. You are very skilled; this is truth. I have a certain sensitivity to magic and the Fade, you have noticed this, and I admit being this close to you makes my skin itch. I sense the Fade inside you.”

 

“I am sorry; I did not realize I was causing you actual discomfort. I do not know what I can do,” Justice frowned.

 

She smiled then, a bit ruefully, “We are not often so close together so it is not an issue. Perhaps in time we will find a way to get you back to the Fade. We have some friends in the Circle who can quietly do some research on the subject. I am sure they will be most fascinated. Usually they are worried about spirits getting out, not in.”

 

He nodded his head gravely, “I will remember, thank you.”

 

“I will enjoy being home again; even having a place to call home is nice.” She joined Alistair as they moved off. Like tired horses the closer they were to hearth and home the faster their pace. Jannasilane was first to see the Vigil courtyard, “My Ali, something must be wrong. There are many people inside the gates.”

 

“Huh, I don’t think anything was scheduled. Better find Varel and . . .” he turned to look at Justice. “Anders, why don’t you show Justice around the outbuildings while I talk to Varel.” Anders nodded in understanding. A walking corpse would be hard to explain without causing rumors of blood magic.

 

“Commander, I am glad you’ve returned when you did. We have a situation,” the seneschal kept his eyes on the mob of peasants while speaking in a low tone. “You better say something or this could turn into a bloodbath. If they’re here without any outside instigation I’ll eat your boots.”

 

“Bloody feed your people!” one man, the apparent leader, cried out to the accompaniment of more yelling and jeers.

 

“Enough!” Alistair bellowed, his warrior’s cry silencing the crowd. “If you came here to die then form a line over there. See this blood?” He pointed to the darker stains on his right arm, “This is from the darkspawn threatening all of us. And this?” he indicated his shield, “this is from the latest group of assassins to attack since I stepped foot in the Arling. That makes seven attempts. Somebody decided before I even got here that they didn’t want me for your Arl and now I find you threatening me in front of my home? Do you think to accomplish what they could not? I promise you, your blood will run as freely. I’d rather not kill you so I suggest you leave and be thankful that _my_ soldiers are stretched thin guarding _your_ farms and homes.” He shifted his stance to battle readiness. Captain Garevel signaled the guards.

 

One older woman scowled, “We’re not assassins!” She looked around at her angry fellows and scowled even more, “Are you sayin’ some fool wants to kill the Hero of Ferelden while darkspawn attack?” She turned to their leader, “Basil, you stupid lout, and that goes for all of us, some toffee-nosed prat is tryin’ to use us and not get his bleedin’ hands dirty. I’m going home; I want no part in some noble’s filthy games.” She shoved her way through the crowd and out the gates, many following her.

 

Alistair stared grimly at Basil and the few remaining peasants. They looked around at their reduced numbers, their pitchforks and dull swords. They eyed the guards with well-maintained weapons, hands hovering over their hilts. To a man, they shook their heads and left.

 

“Guards, stand down,” Garevel eyed Alistair with renewed respect, “Commander, I don’t know how you did it. I’m just glad you were able to defuse the situation.”

 

“For now anyway,” Alistair muttered when the captain left. “Varel, if there’s nothing pressing I need food and a hot bath.”

 

“Just one, Commander; a special messenger is waiting in your office. I’m sure the staff is already seeing to your request,” Varel answered. Alistair and Jannasilane were so popular with the servants in the Vigil that the moment they saw their Arl and Arlessa returning from the field they hurried to prepare the bathing chamber. Hot water with soothing oils and trays of bread and cheese greeted them when they went upstairs. To their credit, neither Alistair nor Jannasilane failed to acknowledge the courtesies shown them.

 

Alistair brushed his hand over her hair before leaning down to give her a kiss, “Go on up, my love. I’ll see what this messenger has to say and join you soon.” He watched her leave and turned away, muttering, “Hope this person has some good news.” He opened the door to his office and saw a slight figure in the shadows leaning indolently against the wall. “I suppose this means you’ve finished your investigations, Zevran.”

 

“‘If you came here to die, form a line?’ What a marvelously Fereldan way of defusing a situation, which I am sure you guessed was instigated by your enemies,” the Antivan sauntered to a chair and made himself comfortable. “Would you feel better knowing that it would not matter who was Warden-Commander? The mere fact that the Grey Wardens are in charge makes some of the fine folk in Amaranthine uneasy. Sketchily balanced, _highly profitable,_ apple carts are threatened. A noble could be got around, you see.”

 

“Not one Anora chose,” Alistair retorted.

 

“Ah, but they understand what actions a noble would likely take and so circumvent them. At the very least buy time to dismantle their operations before they were discovered. Grey Wardens? An unpredictable entity, as I well know. An abandoned farm to the west is their meeting place. They do not meet regularly; they decide at the end of one meeting the date for the next. I have ascertained they will next gather three days hence, after the noon meal. Your annoying persistence in defeating all their attempts to kill you is making them nervous. If the leader wasn’t so intent on your demise, I believe they would desist. It is remarkable but Renden Howe was able to inspire devotion in one of his more influential nobles. You killed him and now you should die. It matters not that our ever-so-handsome friend actually struck the blow. You were there, you are profiting by his death, you need to die.” Zevran raised one eyebrow in disdain at the foolishness of this person. He would never tell Alistair, but he’d been quite impressed with the way the large warrior sent the peasants on their way without spilling a single drop of blood.

 

Alistair sighed, “Bann Esmerelle?” He doubted Lady Packton realized what she’d let slip in her ire. If Esmerelle wasn’t directly responsible for the assassins in Amaranthine, she was most likely a supporter. With her sense of self-importance, he doubted she was anything but the leader against him. “Janna doesn’t like her at all.”

 

Zevran grinned, “The delectable Pocket Goddess is a most discerning judge of character, especially when it relates to those around you. Moreover, she has reason; all my investigations conclude that the lady is indeed the head and heart of the conspiracy against you. Do not underestimate her, my friend; she is wily and bold. Before I leave, I wish to speak to the most magnificent bosom in Thedas. Take care of yourself; His Majesty will be most displeased if you should die.”

 

“Zev, there are things you should tell Blake when you return to Denerim. The darkspawn situation is complicated. I’m meeting with my top men after dinner and I’d like you there. Save me having to write a report and you may have some insights into what seems like a political situation among the darkspawn.”

 

“Sounds most intriguing, oh handsome templar, and will give me an opportunity to make the acquaintance of that pretty elven lass. She is Dalish, is she not?” the assassin smiled.

 

The Commander scowled, “Please don’t make her any pricklier than she already is.” He was not reassured by Zevran’s expression.

 

Before he left, Zevran had a question, “Just who was that mysterious figure the sexy magic man directed away from the crowd? Another recruit, perhaps?”

 

“A recruit? No, I wouldn’t exactly say that. He, well, you’ll understand better after tonight’s meeting,” Alistair couldn’t help grinning at being able to keep a mystery from the shrewd Antivan for a little while. He wasn’t at all fooled by the nonchalant shrug and knew that the elf would have to decide whether to pursue Velanna or the mystery. He knew exactly what he was going to do next and it involved a hot bath and a temperamental woman with glorious hair. And food, definitely food.


	88. More Wardens at Vigil's Keep

“The men are relieved to know that your new Wardens will be going on patrol with them, sir. I didn’t think you were expecting them so soon,” Captain Garevel was standing next to Alistair on the ramparts. The captain greatly admired the younger Commander. Nobody anticipated that taking control of Amaranthine would be so complicated yet the Hero of Ferelden strived to do his duties as Arl and Warden-Commander.

 

“Yes, eight more Wardens will help a great deal, even if they don’t have all their senses yet. He wrote after we left for the Blackmarsh so they will probably arrive before I leave again. Riordan says he has done as much as he can without venturing against the darkspawn and they might as well finish their training here as the Deep Roads. He’ll stay until we take care of these darkspawn . . . factions.” Alistair shook his head, “The recent civil war, a strong conspiracy against me, I almost wonder if they are learning from us.”

 

Captain Garevel looked startled until he realized the Warden-Commander was indulging in a rare bit of dark humor. Still, he felt compelled to argue, “There wouldn’t be a conspiracy against you if you weren’t an honorable man and good at what you do, sir, if you want my opinion. You don’t know how bad it was to work for Renden Howe, especially in the last few years. The female servants no longer fear walking across the grounds where a soldier or ‘special guest’ might feel free to accost them. Nor do any of the servants have to worry about the lash because of a dropped plate. They know you expect them to do their best but understand nobody is perfect. You and Lady Jannasilane treat them with courtesy and respect, something they’ve never experienced before now. They work hard to please you and make you comfortable because of what you’ve given them. The same goes for all the men at arms. The changes you’ve made, including checking on their families and giving them the option of bringing their families here, it all makes them proud to wear your colors. No one in the taverns dares to speak against you because your men will force the words back down their throats. I don’t condone brawling,” he hastened to add, “but the word’s getting around and hopefully is giving some people a reason to reconsider the rumors against you.” He stopped speaking abruptly and flushed, realizing he got a bit carried away.

 

Alistair looked startled, then he smiled, “Thank you, Captain. You, Janna, Seneschal Varel and Ser Mhairi deserve a lot of the credit. I certainly couldn’t do this alone. I wonder if Janna will take a walk in the moonlight with me?” With a casual salute, a lighter step, and a merry whistle he went in search of his ladylove. ~~~~

Captain Garevel stayed on the ramparts a while longer, observing his guards as much as the surrounding area. He was pleased to see them alert and observant. He smiled to himself when he saw Alistair leading his lady outside. Images of the first girl he ever kissed hovered in his mind. The pretty, laughing blonde was the reason he joined Howe’s army rather than going further afield. Foolishly, he thought he would rise through the ranks based on his ability and be able to support her and a family. He soon realized that promotions went to men who didn’t mind doing the unsavory. _“I think she married a traveling merchant and I consoled myself in the arms of that redheaded widow,”_ he shook his head a little at the memories from a dozen years ago. A giggle on the breeze brought his attention to the grounds. _“Obviously the Commander doesn’t think anyone can see . . . well, he’s a very lucky man. Note to self, make sure discreet men are posted on the ramparts in the evening.”_ He went inside.

 

Jannasilane was sparring with some of the soldiers and the Cousins while Alistair spoke to the patrol leaders. “Men, I know you will welcome having a Warden to give you some warning of when you’re going to walk into darkspawn. I want you to remember that these are still new Grey Wardens and it will take time for them to hone and develop their senses. Compared to Riordan I’m a babe in the woods.”

 

“Big baby,” one of them muttered and then flushed when he realized he spoke aloud. “Sorry, sir.”

 

“While that may be true let’s try to keep some discipline,” Alistair said mildly, trying not to smile. _“That’s something I would have said when I was in the Chantry. No wonder they became exasperated.”_ He pointed to where the Cousins were sparring, “Don’t expect the Wardens to fight in the disciplined manner you may be accustomed to. It’s very important that we adapt to the circumstances or risk being overrun. That said you are the leaders of your patrol. It will be your decision whether to engage or avoid, who should scout, etc. As always, your primary concern is the safety or our people and the citizens of Amaranthine. Don’t be impatient with the green Wardens; I remember when I first became a Warden I was sure I sensed a darkspawn under every rock. Sometimes it was even true,” he smiled a little. “Some of it was because I was eager to prove myself, sure, but a number of false alarms were just because I didn’t have a handle yet. Your biggest danger may be to avoid the temptation not to take them seriously when they’ve had half a dozen false alarms in a row. Darkspawn are fast, just because they’re not there when you arrive doesn’t mean they _weren’t_ there.” He waited a few beats to see if they understood the difference.

 

“I insisted on archery practice for a reason, to avoid becoming tainted try to take them out from a distance. If the Grey Warden in your party is a mage, protect them. You’ve seen what Anders can do and he’s primarily a healer. If the darkspawn outnumber your men, do not engage unless necessary. Listen to your Warden. For the past several weeks he’s been immersed in darkspawn training. When you get to a village or farm on your patrols, introduce the Warden and let him check the defenses. You have all done a wonderful job in helping our farmers and small holders, now is the time to expand on that. Different eyes may see different possibilities or vulnerabilities. I want our people to know we are doing the best we can to keep them safe.”

 

“They know that, Warden-Commander, sir, we all do,” one of the Sergeants spoke up. “But having a Warden take an interest won’t hurt none. Commander, I have a que-” he was interrupted by a growly bellow.

 

“YOU SODDING LIMP-EARED NUG-HUMPER, WHY AREN’T YOU DEAD IN THE DEEP ROADS?” Oghren came hurrying forward, his expression a ferocious scowl.

 

Saykor nodded his head, “It is good to see you alive, Cousin.” His words were pleasant but his expression remained grave.

 

Alistair’s eyebrows were nearly up to his hairline but he managed to keep his voice even, “It seems the Wardens have arrived. Oghren, why don’t you show your cousin where he can bunk and then take him to the dining hall.” He beckoned to the Cousins while keeping an eye on the departing dwarves. “At least they don’t seem ready to kill each other,” he muttered sotto voce to Riordan.

 

“Yes,” Riordan’s reply was equally quiet, “getting between the two of them would be like trying to separate two angry bulls.” He looked around the courtyard, “You have done well here, Alistair. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect considering the circumstances of your arrival.”

 

“I don’t think I could have done it without my Janna. The servants all adore her and she put her experience at Highever to good use,” Alistair replied, typically downplaying his own role.

 

Mhairi spoke up; she wasn’t going to let the Commander get by with that. “Yes you could, sir. I’m not saying your lady didn’t make it easier but you are the one who inspires the men just by being who you are.” The other Cousins nodded their heads in vigorous agreement.

 

“Um, thank you,” the large templar still had trouble taking compliments. “Riordan, this is Ser Mhairi. Ser Mhairi, Riordan transferred here from Jader to set up a training program for new recruits. He has a couple of decades experience being a Warden and can help us all.”

 

Riordan bowed slightly, “Charmed to make your acquaintance, Ser Mhairi. Alistair wrote of your exceptional skill and how helpful you have been in these trying times.” Mhairi flushed slightly. She and the Cousins escorted the rest of the Wardens to their new home. Riordan turned to Jannasilane, “no greetings for me, little one?”

 

As if she'd been waiting for his signal she flew into his embrace and hugged him fiercely, “I am glad you arrived safely, my Rio. These darkspawn are being most annoying, even more than some of Amaranthine’s _finest._ ”

 

He and Alistair could hear the sneer in her voice and grinned at each other over the top of her head. Riordan kissed her hair and then loosened his hold so she could step back. He bowed over her hand and kissed it in his most courtly manner, “My dear little one, I pity those who attack your warrior for you are a fierce opponent. I am most happy to see you looking well and lovelier than ever. And before you ask, we did encounter some darkspawn.” He straightened and spoke directly to Alistair, “Commander, you will be glad to know your new Wardens acquitted themselves well. There were some expected ‘false sensings’ but they did not get discouraged and not once did I have to correct their sense of direction.”

 

Alistair smiled, “Good. Even better that they’ve had a chance to use their senses. Before showing you to your room which, by the way, is in the family quarters, let me introduce you to the troop leaders. After returning from Kal’Hirol a Warden will be traveling with each patrol.” He explained his plans while they walked. Riordan listened and made a few suggestions.

 

“I thought you went with Branka,” he eyed Saykor, not realizing the hurt she inflicted showed. They were in his room where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

 

“I’m sorry, Oghren,” Saykor was pleased his cousin was alive and well but didn’t look forward to telling him what happened. “Branka told us you had some obligations to finish before you could follow us but it shouldn’t take long. She lied of course, but we were too far into the Deep Roads. Do you remember Hespith?” Oghren grunted and took a swig. “After a couple of weeks Branka made no secret of their relationship,” Saykor couldn’t hide his discomfort. “She was already showing signs of mania regarding Caridin’s research. Some of our people wanted to return to Orzammar, most of them weren’t experienced fighters, but she wouldn’t let them. She said she couldn’t trust them to keep her secrets. Secrets? Oghren, we were in Caridin’s Cross and hadn’t found the way to Ortan Thaig yet. There _were_ no secrets to be betrayed.”

 

He looked up at the ceiling rather than face his cousin with the next bit of news, “I did try to reason with her. Nervous dwarves jumping at every shadow aren’t good in the Deep Roads but she ignored me. A handful tried to leave while they knew the way home and could hope to meet a patrol. She sent some men to bring them back and executed them in front of us all. ‘Nobody leaves,’ she said and left them to rot. She wouldn’t even let us return them to the Stone. Branka was watching me after that. Honestly, I think she was planning to kill me when she had the chance. I didn’t give it to her. She was fierce and a good fighter but no smith knows the Deep Roads like a warrior who patrolled them as often as I did. When we got near Ortan Thaig I saw my chance. While she was distracted by finding the lost thaig, I left. I started to make my way back to Orzammar and realized I couldn’t go back. Branka was a sodding Paragon and I’d be lucky to be exiled to the surface. There were a few small outlets to the surface, created by the darkspawn, I’m sure, which I knew about so I followed one. I guarded merchant caravans and other work of that type. I was in Denerim when the Archdemon showed up. After that I knew I was going to join the Wardens.”

 

“Good thing you left when you did or she would have fed you to the darkspawn, the crazy dewlicker,” Oghren told Saykor everything that happened after his escape.

 

The other dwarf looked sick but not surprised by Branka’s actions. He gladly took the mug of Oghren’s brew offered and downed it in one swallow. Saykor wiped his lips, “I’ve missed that. None of this surface ale has the same kick. For what it’s worth, I don’t think Branka left you because of Hespith. I think she left without you because you were the one person who could stop her. She was a Paragon but you were one of the most decorated warriors in a long time, many of our people would have listened to you. And now we’re both Grey Wardens.” He shook his head and smiled a little, “I met this Antivan and he would say ‘Fate -’”

 

“. . . is a tricky whore,” Oghren finished with a grin. “Zevran was with the Wardens when I started traveling with ‘em.” The two of them refilled their mugs. By the time they entered the dining room they were singing bawdy songs popular in Tapster’s.

 

Velanna was working with Justice on a way to minimize some of the decomposition affects of his borrowed body. She finally stopped because she was hungry and she needed to clear her mind and senses before going into the dining room. She was surprised to see all the new Wardens, including a fellow Dalish. “Andaran atish’an, I did not realize another of the Elvhen was here. How do you fare?”     

 

Harami leaned back in his chair, “I fare well, cousin, although I am not sure we are of the people any more. Do not Grey Wardens leave their old lives behind them?” he teased.

 

Velanna completely missed the mischief quietly lurking in the back of his eyes, “We do not stop being elves just because we are Grey Wardens. It is still our duty to remember and preserve our heritage as much as possible,” she frowned slightly.

 

“I’ll leave you to concentrate on the past. I prefer to worry about preserving the present and future, hence my joining the Grey Wardens,” he filled his plate again. “The food here compares favorably with that of Soldier’s Peak. Funny how it didn’t seem that important before, do you have any favorites?”

 

“The grilled vegetables are very good; just don’t eat the last of the cheese. At least not until the Commander has had plenty or you will find yourself being punished in small ways.” She sniffed at his look of surprise, “Not by him, by the servants. Even the flat-ears will find a way to reprimand you, they all practically worship him.”

 

“Do not ever use that word around me, Velanna,” now Harami was angry. “It is no more their fault they were born among humans than yours that you were born in one of the clans. You’re so fond of the past you should remember that Garahel, the elf who ended the Fourth Blight, was from one of the human cities. If you hate it here so much why are you even a Warden?”

 

“My sister was taken by those creatures and I have to save her,” Velanna was miserable at so quickly antagonizing the one possible kindred spirit she’d encountered.

 

Harami’s anger never lasted long and he was truly sorry for her pain, “Emma abelas[1], lethallan. I did not mean to bring up your sorrow. Why don’t you tell me something of the people in Vigil’s Keep . . . who was that dwarf yelling at Saykor?”

 

Velanna rolled her eyes, glad to have another topic of discussion, “Oghren. You know the stories of dwarves drinking lots of ale?” Harami smiled a little, “Oghren drinks more. I don’t know how he manages to fight at all but he can cleave through a crowd of darkspawn like few others.”

 

“You escaped seven times?” Zeke was incredulous. “Why didn’t they just kill you?” he and Anders were sitting apart from the others. Zeke welcomed the opportunity to talk about his craft with one who understood. Most of the new Wardens were sitting at a large table with the Cousins, Nathaniel Howe, and some of the guards.

 

“Even templars have _some_ rules,” Anders responded with a quirky grin. “I passed my Harrowing easily enough so unless I become a maleficar they’re not supposed to execute me. They probably would have decided that eventually, true or not.” He studied the other mage, Zeke was slender, like himself, _“You rarely see fat mages, I wonder why.”_ What intrigued Anders was that Zeke had never been in a Circle. “How did you manage never to end up in one of the Circles?”

 

“Smugglers aren’t known for staying in one place for very long,” he answered drily. "The leader of our crew back then was quick to see the advantages of having his own mage to hand, so he didn’t make my parents drop me off at the nearest Chantry. A small number of our contacts were apostates, mostly escapees like you, and he negotiated some training. The first things they taught me were control and hiding. Turns out, I’m very good at causing damage, practiced in a lot of empty caves here and there. We were stuck in Ferelden during the Blight and had to fight more and more darkspawn. I knew it was a matter of time before the templars realized a ‘dangerous mage’ was running around uncontrolled and decided to join the Wardens. I like fighting darkspawn more than smuggling. Better benefits,” his eyes traveled from the abundance of food to Ser Mhairi and ending on Jannasilane.

 

Anders snorted, “Please remember that the Commander is a templar,” he warned.

 

Zeke grinned at him, “Oh, I don’t poach. But a man can enjoy the view, can’t he?” they clinked their glasses in a toast to delectable derrieres and bounteous bosoms.

 

Riordan was sitting with Alistair, Jannasilane, Captain Garevel and Seneschal Varel. Mistress Woolsey preferred to sit apart and observe the proceedings. “So we are faced with two intelligent darkspawn with different agendas? One wants to experiment on Grey Wardens and the other knows how to trap them in the Fade,” the older Warden shook his head at the difficulties. “It is a shame we can’t let them whittle down each other’s forces but Amaranthine could be destroyed in the process. At least this conspiracy against you should soon be done. You say we are heading out to this farm tomorrow before proceeding to Kal’Hirol?”

 

“Yep. I hope that the leader, or strong evidence pointing to the leader, will be there. If not, she and I will sit down for a ‘come to the Maker’ meeting. I will not have my arling torn apart.” Alistair’s eyes flashed.

 

Riordan looked at Mistress Woolsey, “Do you think you need to look closer to home for strife?” Garevel and Varel kept their eyes on their plates, neither one of them cared for the treasurer. She continually rebuffed requests to join them for meals or debate, questions about her comfort were met with a sniff and a ‘satisfactory.’ She said that as treasurer she needed to keep a certain distance in order not to show favoritism when dispensing funds but neither man believed her. Jannasilane sneered; she tried to avoid the older woman in order not to hear any more lectures about ‘distracting the Grey Wardens from their duty.’

 

Alistair sighed, “I hope not. She hasn’t done anything to make me think she is anything but dedicated to her job. She certainly has made no secret that she disapproves of me, believes I am too young for such a responsible position and that I do not put the Wardens’ interests forward enough. If she had her way she would be in charge of both the Warden and the arling monies but I quickly squashed that. Money due me as the Arl of Amaranthine goes into one pot that Varel manages and tithes to the Grey Wardens go into the pot managed by her. I make a point of examining both sets of books, which, of course, insults her integrity. I also split the costs of running Vigil’s Keep between both instead of paying them all out of the arling pot. I am ‘too flighty’ because of my relationship with Janna. It will take time and no monumental mistakes by me before she’ll accept me,” he shrugged and scooped up another forkful of food.

 

 _“I hope you are right, my young friend,”_ Riordan smiled at the sounds of laughter around the room. The soldiers of the arling and the young Wardens seemed to be finding common ground with none of the racism sometimes found in other gatherings. Alistair’s influence, no doubt.

 

A loud noise warned them Oghren and Saykor were coming to dine, “. . . pickled Cherryplum is tasty as can be; I’m sure the Warden-Commander would agree . . .” they staggered in with their version of an ‘Ode to Dwarven Womanhood.’

 

Oghren looked at Saykor, “What’s the rest of it again?”

 

Saykor blinked, “I thought you knew . . . umm . . . to Cherryplum!”

 

“To Cherryplum!” Oghren chorused and both dwarves plopped down in chairs while servants hastily filled their plates, hoping there wouldn’t be any more ‘singing.’

 

“Maker’s breath, we will never live that down,” Alistair muttered. He just knew his face was bright red. He looked at Janna; she was also blushing fiercely. Riordan smiled slightly, he knew the story. Meanwhile the rest of the dining room was staring at the two dwarves. The recruits from Denerim were stupefied to see the normally serious and taciturn Saykor in a condition of drunken bawdiness.

 

“No, you will not,” Riordan chuckled. “However, I doubt most of them know there is a story behind their rendition of a popular bar song. Even if Oghren says anything later, well, he does have a tendency to exaggerate.”

 

 ===========================================================

_**[1]** _ _Roughly speaking, “My apologies” or “I have sorrow”_


	89. Conspiracy Thwarted, Kal'Hirol Discovered

Alistair stared down at the letter in his hand, fighting the desire to crumple it into a ball. Lady Packton still had it when the treacherous group was surprised at Old Stark’s farm. “Looks like we have the evidence we need,” he said to no one in particular. Once again, he read the first part of the letter; the rest was in code.

 

_“Dearest Liza,”_ it began. The Warden-Commander sneered at the smarminess he imagined oozing from the writer’s pen. _“I regret that I am unable to attend today’s gathering even though I made the arrangements. At the last minute . . . well I shall not bore you with the details. I have every confidence that you will relay these instructions clearly and accurately to the others. It is time for direct action since our previous efforts have only succeeded in depleting our coin. Soon we will not have to deal with that slack-jawed simpleton and the situation will be corrected._

_Be careful, my dear. My thoughts are with you even though I am not, your friend.”_ The letter was signed ‘Es--,’ everything after the ‘s’ nearly drowned in a flurry of loops and curlicues.

 

“Commander, the men await your orders,” Captain Garevel waited respectfully. He didn’t think the Arling would suffer greatly with the loss of a few nobles loyal to the memory of Renden Howe. _“How could anybody still be loyal to that man? I suppose I understand doing business with him, and not wanting to offend your Arl, but I didn’t think he had enough charisma to inspire such loyalty.”_

 

“Take the bodies to the abandoned outpost near the Vigil and hide them. Handle them with respect; I don’t want anybody getting crazy ideas about what we do. Post a guard and make sure your men stay hidden. Tell Varel I want two of the Cousins, Alan, I sometimes think he’s had bardic training, and Heather, to work secretly with him on deciphering this code. I’m sure he can make up some excuse,” he handed the letter to Garevel. “After the bodies are on their way I want every trace of our presence erased. If the lady or another cohort gets nervous and decides to investigate the farm I don’t want them to find anything to alarm them.”

 

The captain saluted, “We will do as you command, sir. If I may make a suggestion, Commander, I can leave one or two men in hiding to see if anyone does appear.”

 

Alistair clapped the man on his shoulders, “Good thinking. As long as there is no chance of them being detected, do it. They can fall in with the Wardens returning to the Vigil and report back to you.” Garevel swelled with pride and hurried to make sure his men did exactly as the Commander wanted.

 

“I would like to see her in chains, my Ali,” Jannasilane grumbled after they were well away from the farm. Some of the other Wardens nodded their agreement.

 

“You want more than that, my love,” Alistair replied with a grin. He enjoyed the heat of battle lighting her eyes on his behalf. “However, if Kal’Hirol is a nest of broodmothers we must destroy them first. The Mother and the Architect don’t need any more soldiers than they already have. Besides, if the code in that letter can be deciphered it may give us more and better evidence. A few days won’t hurt.”

 

“My friend, I sense we are getting closer,” Riordan advised before the chasm was visible.

 

“You don’t need to be a Warden to know a whole mess of darkspawn has been through here,” Oghren grunted his observation.

 

Before some of the others could question him, Saykor spoke up, “Oghren fought in the Deep Roads for almost two decades. You can’t do that without developing your own instinct or darkspawn sense. He’s one of the most decorated warriors Orzammar this generation. I looked up to him when I was little.”

 

“Was a decorated warrior,” Oghren mumbled under his breath. Then he bellowed, “Hey! I’m not your sodding grandpa, you miserable nug-humper.”

 

Alistair’s eyes twinkled, it was fun seeing this side to Saykor, but he kept his voice stern, “Let’s keep the noise level down, shall we? We don’t need to alert all the darkspawn in the arling.” Oghren may have grumbled something about ‘oversized pike-twirlers’ but he ignored it.

 

“Did an earthquake cause this?” Alistair asked rhetorically. “This is not the result of darkspawn digging to the surface. We should be careful; the ground may not be completely stable at the bottom.” They crossed a rickety looking bridge, to Anders’ dismay, and down some roughly crafted steps.

 

“Ugh,” Velanna grimaced, “I can already feel the difference. And you say it will get worse further in?”

 

“Never thought I’d be glad for all that training in meditation and building resistance,” Terry remarked. Riordan bowed slightly in her direction.

 

“Darkspawn ahead and around the corner,” Alistair warned.

 

Riordan concurred, “I agree, my friend. There are approximately one dozen, fortunately only hurlocks and genlocks.”

 

The Wardens quietly rushed forward at the Commander’s signal and saw that the darkspawn were not alone. Struggling in their midst was a young dwarva. The appearance of the Grey Wardens provided enough distraction for her to break away and pick up a discarded axe so she could join the fray, the very brief fray. Once the darkspawn were corpses on the ground, she turned to them with a game smile, “Thank you, strangers, for coming when you did. Sorry I can’t stay to chat but,” she stopped speaking when she noticed the older Wardens’ armor. Her smile grew broad, “Grey Wardens?! I don’t know what brought you here but it was certainly lucky for me. Our platoon was investigating word of a broodmother nest somewhere in Kal’Hirol but the darkspawn proved too tough. I’m the last. Well,” she turned to head down, “mustn’t keep the broodmothers waiting.”

 

“Wait,” Alistair commanded. He realized from her armor she was from the Legion of the Dead. The dwarf turned around almost hopefully, “Apparently we’re on the same business. I suggest we combine our efforts and perhaps avenge your fallen comrades in the process.”

 

“You got a deal, Commander,” the young dwarva smiled broadly. “The name’s Sigrun, so if we’re going to move, let’s move. Darkspawn don’t kill themselves, you know.”

 

“I appreciate your eagerness,” he replied drily, “but first we’ll let Anders heal all our injuries, including yours.”

 

“Step into my office,” Anders quipped. Soon they were descending below ground.

 

Oghren grunted once they reached the bottom of the ladder, “Kind of nice not to see the sodding bright sky overhead, for a change.” He and Saykor ambled ahead of the others until they reached a ledge overlooking the valley leading to the old dwarven fortress. “Branka would have given her eyeteeth to be here, looking for lost secrets. Before she became consumed by the Anvil, of course.”

 

“The greatest center of learning and development the smith caste ever had . . . the noble houses in Orzammar will be tripping over each other trying to be the first to reclaim it,” Saykor added cynically. Oghren agreed with an expression of sad disgust. He consoled himself by flirting salaciously with Sigrun while they descended to the valley floor. To her credit, Sigrun had no trouble handling him. The only thing to disturb her perky equanimity was a fellow Legionnaire. They found him dying in a corner of the ruins; he seemed glad to see Sigrun alive and whole. His death strengthened her resolve to move forward quickly.

 

“A completely new type of darkspawn that even the other darkspawn fear? We will need to send a report to Weisshaupt; other than minor differences, the darkspawn have been consistent in their variety for centuries. To the best of my knowledge there have been no new species,” Riordan frowned at the implications.

 

“We met a few of these grub type darkspawn in the Blackmarsh, working with one of the talkers. They can spit poison like a spider and are faster than they appear. They are not easy to kill with their thick shells, this is truth,” Jannasilane warned the others. They didn’t have long to wait for a demonstration of the Children’s viciousness. Genlocks didn’t run from much but a small group appeared to be running away from something. They were. Two grubs were quickly gaining on them. They showed no mercy and no hesitation in attacking one of their own kind, or what should have been one of their own kind.

 

“Maker,” the Wardens watched with wide eyes. Alistair adjusted their tactics, “I’ll concentrate on any emissaries, mages and archers I want you to focus your efforts on . . . what did he call them? the Children while the rest of you stay close and take out anything that comes near.” His strategy worked well for them as they fought their way to the entrance.

 

Sigrun stopped him from going forward, “Commander, the darkspawn control Kal’Hirol, including all its defenses. If you go in the front door like the Legion did you’ll be walking into a death trap. There should be another way inside, if we can find it.”

 

“The dwarves, Anders, Nathaniel, Justice, and Janna will come with me. Riordan, take everybody else back to the Vigil, making sure to go through Stark’s farm. Better inform Weisshaupt and the other Warden-Commanders about these new darkspawn. If they haven’t seen them yet, they should at least be warned.” He pulled the senior Warden to the side, “Please tell Varel to wait 24 hours and then, whether I’ve returned or not, go to plan B. He’ll know what you mean.”

 

Velanna scowled at him, “I detect a bias against elves, _Commander_. And to think I was beginning to think you were different.” Some of the other elves looked concerned.

 

Alistair sighed, “I’m being practical. I can’t take everybody and we don’t have enough earrings to go around yet. I hope that by the time we return the First Enchanter’s delivery will be waiting, When Jannasilane sings her battle song it is going to bounce off the walls, stunning you into easy targets. Dwarves are less susceptible; elves are more sensitive. I am not going to risk half the Wardens in Ferelden to satisfy your need for me to play nice. You and the other new recruits have been down here long enough; some of you are showing signs of distress. You’ll know what I mean once you aren’t surrounded by layers of taint. Don’t question me anymore, Velanna,” he warned when she didn’t look satisfied.

 

“Come; let us depart quickly before more of these children make their appearance. I, for one, will be most glad to be on the surface once again. Take care of yourself, little one, Commander,” Riordan shepherded his flock of Wardens to the surface.

 

“For such a little duster you are sure full of surprises. Can you really do that?” Sigrun asked.

 

“I. Am. Not. Little,” Jannasilane spoke through gritted teeth. The others just laughed at her.

 

“Of course you’re not little, Mouse,” Nathaniel spoke. “In answer to your question, Sigrun, yes, she can do that. The mighty Mouse can stun a group of darkspawn, and others, with her voice better than anything I can think of, except maybe some spells. And she doesn’t need lyrium to do it.”

 

Sigrun studied the small human woman, “Well, that’s convenient.” She went back to examining and tapping the walls, as the others were doing, trying to find a mechanism or clue to the hidden entrance.


	90. The Thorn in His Side

Jannasilane limped along at Alistair’s side. She stumbled and Alistair caught her before she fell. “Stop,” Alistair commanded. “We’re far enough away; let’s rest here for a few minutes. Maker, those adult Children are fast, almost as fast as you are, my love. You had me worried once or twice,” he pulled her against him and kissed the top of her head. He didn’t know which of them needed the contact more.

 

“Yes, my Ali, they are fast. And strong. But they are not clever, or if they are it is overwhelmed by a lust for viciousness,” she sighed and relaxed as he gently massaged her shoulders. Their struggles against these new darkspawn tired her more than she cared to admit.

 

“My mana is restored,” Anders looked around their group. “I’ll take another look for small injuries, now. Who’s first?”

 

Oghren spoke first, “Better check Cherryplum, Sparklefingers. It’s not natural for her to be so quiet.”

 

“She has a right to be tired, but I’ll make sure that’s all it is,” Anders said cheerfully. Alistair shot the dwarf a look of gratitude. He was also getting concerned about her fatigue. Anders moved over and, with a flourish of his robe, sat down next to the warrior so he could examine the curvy little woman sleeping in his arms. “This may be the first time I’ve ever willingly sat down next to a templar,” he quipped. He brushed back Jannasilane’s hair and turned her face towards him. He trailed the back of his hand across her forehead and down the side of her face. He grinned when Alistair started to move protectively, “So far, so good. Her complexion is good and she isn’t cold or feverish.”

 

“Couldn’t you have figured that out without touching her?” Alistair grumbled.

 

The healer chuckled, “What, and miss the chance to caress Sexy Sweetie, here? I was on the run for a long time, Commander.” Oghren snorted his appreciation and even Nathaniel smiled slightly. “Besides,” he added, “we apostates on the run have to learn to conserve our mana. Finding black market connections with lyrium is tricky. What some of these smugglers ask,” he shook his head in mock dismay. He gently opened one of her eyes, “She has the most mesmerizing eyes I’ve ever seen; the colors just swirl in a dance of light and emotion.” He watched, briefly entranced by the lazy circles, slower than normal. “I bet you were lost the first time you gazed into them.”

 

“I was,” Alistair smiled, remembering. “We found her fighting darkspawn by herself on the road to Lothering. She didn’t have any armor, just a torn dress and some daggers. We ran to help, though I’m not sure she needed it. When the skirmish was over, I knelt down to see if she was hurt. She looked at me and my life changed forever.”

 

“Wow,” Sigrun said softly. She was sitting next to Nathaniel while the healer examined Little D. “In Dust Town we were too busy trying to survive to form a connection with anyone. The pretty ones tried to attract a noble’s attention and the rest of us were scheming to avoid the Carta or rise in it . . .” She shook her head, remembering what it was like, “I hear it’s a little different now. The Carta isn’t what it was before I joined the Legion. It’s pretty disorganized now.”

 

“Ha! The Wardens didn’t like it when the Carta kidnapped Cherryplum. Ran right through their hole,” Oghren took a swig.

 

Anders straightened; he had a small frown on his face. “She’s been poisoned,” he stated.

 

“P-poisoned?” Alistair paled.

 

“Not the deadly kind,” the mage hastened to reassure the big warrior. “It’s something sapping her energy. Now to find its source . . .” he called on his mana and held his hands just above her head. Slowly he moved them down until, “Aha,” he picked up her leg and began closely examining her calf. “There’s something just under the skin here, I just need to find it,” he muttered, mostly to himself. With one hand, he began fumbling in his pack for the tools of his trade. He made a small cut and carefully removed the barb, “Well, look at that. Quick, somebody hand me an empty vial or something. If I can study it I might be able to create an antidote.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“It looks like a coarse hair from one of the Children,” Anders answered. “It has barbs and each barb has a small sac of the venom. Let me fix this cut. She can sleep just a little bit longer. Walking will then help her shake off the remaining affects.”

 

Nathaniel frowned, “So you move more slowly while it tears into you. Some spiders and other creatures do the same thing.”

 

“Doesn’t that add a new level of nasty to the darkspawn,” Sigrun grimaced. “Maybe Little Duster should start wearing boots. Commander, it looked like there are two groups of darkspawn fighting each other.”

 

“The Architect and the Mother,” Alistair explained what they knew so far.

 

When they reached Vigil’s Keep Seneschal Varel was waiting for them. “Warden-Commander, we were starting to worry.” He waited until they were alone before continuing, “Bann Esmerelle was arrested per your orders, along with her five children. They are being held in the Amaranthine jail and have no contact with each other or anybody else. Heather and Alan cracked the code she was using quite easily. We searched the houses of all the conspirators and put the evidence in your conference room.”

 

“Anything I should know?” Alistair asked quietly.

 

The Seneschal shook his head, “I think it best if you come to your own conclusions, first, Commander. I’ll be in the throne room if you need me.”

 

Alistair saw to his men, wrote a follow up report about the Children to the First, and took care of some general administration matters before settling down to review the documents stacked in the conference room. “Shall we get started Jannalove? We can ask Varel to join us later. I want to make sure I don’t miss anything or misunderstand something, not on a matter this serious -” The door opened and an angry Mistress Woolsey entered.

 

“Commander, you cannot go around arresting nobles. You threaten the right of Grey Wardens even to be in Ferelden with your actions; you of all people should remember the results of Sophia Dryden’s actions. Youth is no excuse. If you or the little tart,” she stopped abruptly when Alistair stood up so fast he knocked his chair over.

 

“Do not ever refer to anyone under my roof, especially the person with whom I share my life, in such derogatory terms. Not ever.” He was so incensed that his throat tightened and the words came out in a menacing whisper. “I am Commander of the Grey for Ferelden and the Arl of Amaranthine. I **will** act accordingly. I **will** protect my people. Moreover, when some noble seeks to oust me by sabotage or assassination I **will** respond with the authority of my office, including the right of High Justice if I deem it appropriate. Do not doubt me on this, _madam_.”

 

Woolsey, flushed with ire when she came in, was now pale. She stood upright, however, and didn’t bow before him. Eyes glittering with emotion she responded stiffly, “My duty is, as always, to the Grey Wardens. I would be remiss not to point out your folly but I should have been more appropriate in my demeanor. For that, I apologize. Do not let your anger with me blind you to the consequences of your actions.” She left, shutting the door sharply behind her. Alistair gripped the table until his knuckles turned white to keep himself from going after her.

 

Jannasilane got up slowly, shocked that the old woman would act so spitefully. She wasn’t surprised by her opinions; Woolsey was completely loyal to and protective of the Grey Wardens and it was no secret she thought Alistair too young for the position. It was also no secret that she thought Alistair’s lover was not a proper lady and completely unsuitable to be Arlessa. _“She is not totally mistaken about that,”_ Jannasilane thought. _“Perhaps a proper lady is not what the Arling needs after Renden Howe. Seneschal Varel has been most helpful and does not seem to think I should not be here. Indeed, he seems to be quite pleased with the state of the Vigil since we arrived. The Woolsey will need watching, I think.”_ She climbed on the table and walked around the piles of paper until she was standing directly in front of and looking down on her beloved. “I think I prefer ‘Warden’s toy’ to ‘Warden’s tart’ but if I am a tart I am most probably cherryplum flavored.” She gently kneaded his shoulders.

 

_“That, that old biddy,”_ Alistair snarled to himself, _“I don’t care if she’s the First’s sainted mother or Andraste herself come to Thedas, she has no right to talk to anyone like that. Maybe I’m young and maybe Janna and I aren’t conventional but that is not her business. As soon as I find someone to replace her, someone I trust, she’s gone. I don’t care where she goes.”_ Slowly he noticed that a magnificent bosom was standing in front of him and his beloved Janna was speaking to him. “You are not a toy and most definitely not a tart.” He straightened and looked up into her beautiful eyes, “Well, you are small enough to be a toy, now that I think about it.” She scowled and punched him in the shoulder. He smiled wickedly, “Assaulting your Arl? You are going to pay for that, wench. I have all this angry energy built up and it needs an outlet. Guess what? You’re it,” he wrapped his arms around her and began gently nibbling her ear.

 

“No, my Ali, not gentle,” she murmured with a hitch in her breath.

 

He continued nibbling her ear and lightly stroking her curves until his hands were on her breasts. “It won’t be gentle. I promise you that,” he ripped open her dress and left the rags lying around her waist. “I’ll buy you another,” he growled and bit the sensitive skin where her neck and shoulder met before roughly latching on to one of her nipples. He let her feel his teeth as he suckled and was rewarded with her moan of pleasure. “I know exactly where I want to take you.” He picked her up, his fingers digging into the rich curves of her derriere. He knew she would bear his bruises the next day and took a fierce joy in the knowledge. Judging by the way her nails were grasping his shoulders he would have a few marks of his own. “I want you in my office, on my desk with the moonlight shining on your face as I possess you. You’re going to scream before I’m done with you, woman,” he growled and bit and licked her other nipple even as he was walking to the door.

 

“Thank the Maker,” she gasped and dug her nails deeper. There were no guards in the hallway. They only patrolled once the Arl retired for the night or was away from the Vigil. At that moment, she wouldn’t have cared. “I want you, my Ali, my Arl. I want you inside me; I want you to _own_ me.” His shudder rippled through her and she whimpered.

 

He marched them into his office and booted the door shut then locked it behind him. Habits ingrained in him during his templar training meant he always left his desk neat and the surface nearly empty, a habit that was very useful now. He wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled her head down until their lips met. He bit, he sucked, he nibbled and he dominated. Alistair laid her down on the desk and moved her hands to her sides, where they could only grip the edge of the desk. He stood and looked down at her, the way the moonlight played on her face and breasts, “You are so beautiful, my love.” He stepped back to remove his shirt and she tightened her legs around him. The warrior reveled at the feel of her heat pressed so tightly against his groin. He loosened his trousers and eased his hand inside so he could lightly stroke himself.

 

Jannasilane thought she would burst when she felt his knuckles through the fabric. She didn’t want to feel him caressing himself; she wanted to feel him caressing _her_. “Ali, please,” she whispered. His teeth gleamed in the moonlight. He moved his hands to her legs and lifted them over his shoulder. He began feasting, tonguing her nub and nibbling her inner thighs. His beard rasped against her flesh and she began breathing faster than before.

 

Alistair loved the scent of her arousal, the desire that was all for him and not part of the Beast. He was proud that he could make her beg for his touch; and conversely humbled that she did so. He rubbed his beard against her, “Zevran, during one of his many attempts to educate me, mentioned the Pleasure Plain. Let’s see if he was lying,” he shifted her so he could dart little licks of his tongue against her skin, then slowly gave her one long lick, ending just shy of her nub.

 

“Al-i-i-i,” she practically screamed and felt him smiling against her. He continued to pleasure her while she could only grasp the edge of the desk and ride.

 

When he couldn’t stand holding off any longer, he kicked off his trousers and positioned her against his straining member. She drummed her feet against his back and he entered her in one long, hard thrust as far as he could go. He held himself there, savoring the tight heat and her cries begging him to move. She twisted her hips and he growled. Alistair let go of her rear and grabbed her hands, pulling them above her head and holding them against the desk’s surface. He kissed her, “You are mine.”

 

“Always,” she answered huskily, “and you are mine.”

 

“Always,” he rumbled.


	91. Court is Convened

Cleaned, refreshed and redressed Alistair and Jannasilane examined all the evidence assembled for them. Finally, Alistair leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Most of it is pretty conclusive to me. Let’s get Riordan and Varel in here.”

 

“It is late,” Jannasilane reminded him.

 

“They may be napping in the library but they are as . . . I was going to say eager, but perhaps determined is a better word . . . as determined to get this done with quickly as I am.”

 

She walked over to his chair and cupped the side of his face, “You are right, my Ali.” She kissed his brow, “You will only brood until it is done. It is not good for you to carry such a weight. I shall go get them.”

 

Alistair smiled gratefully, “I love you, Janna. You make it so much easier for me to do what I need to.”

 

“You are my Ali,” she shrugged her shoulders as if that was all the answer necessary. She smiled and left to find the two men who were her Ali’s closest and most senior advisors. One of the guards told her they were both in the Seneschal’s suite. She only got lost once and was quite proud of herself for realizing her mistake before having to ask for help. When Jannasilane found them, the two men were discussing literature and sipping brandy.

 

They stood when she entered, “Little one, am I right in thinking your presence means Alistair wishes us to join you in the conference room?”

 

She nodded gravely, “It is a good thing my Ali has such broad shoulders for they have had to carry much weight since we came to Amaranthine.”

 

“Fortunately he has you to help him and ease his burdens, my lady,” the Seneschal bowed slightly. “Hopefully we will soon see one of those burdens lifted from him.” Without further words, they joined Arl Warden-Commander, another designation created by the Not-nows. For the most part, they agreed on the interpretation of the evidence before them; where they disagreed, or agreed there were still questions, was the extent to which each of the Bann’s children was involved. Varel shook his head, “The daughters are younger versions of their mother. The three women have always been close. I do not doubt that, if you weren’t so obviously involved with my lady, Bann Esmerelle would have told them to try to attract your personal attention. If you had succumbed you would have been stabbed in your sleep.”

 

Jannasilane scowled at the thought and Alistair kissed her fingers, “See what your mere existence has saved me from? I am a lucky man.” He grinned at her and teased a slight smile out of her. “What about the three boys?”

 

Varel considered, “Hardly boys. The youngest is 16. Bann Esmerelle has always favored her daughters, so I am unsure to what extent she involved her sons. The middle son is single-mindedly, even fanatically, devoted to his mother and would do whatever she asked of him without hesitation or question. He is not particularly clever and nobody can persuade him from an idea or course of action. If he decides you are his mother’s enemy he will be yours for the rest of his life with no thought of self-preservation. The other two, I just don’t know. They are intelligent and are surely aware of her feelings towards you. They are loyal, but not, I think, beyond reason. Because they are more likely to have argued with her she may not have involved them to any great degree. On the other hand, if they agreed with her . . . I just don’t know.”

 

“We need to interview each of them, get a sense of where they stand,” Alistair decided.

 

“I do not think it wise for you to do the questioning, Alistair,” Riordan interjected.

 

“No,” Alistair answered slowly, “No, I think you’re right. Perhaps Captain Garevel and Constable Aidan of the city guard could question each of them while Janna and I secretly observe? I want to gain some impression of their character before I make any final decisions and my Janna is good at sensing deceit.”

 

After further discussion they decided to go with Alistair’s suggestion with one addition; they would invite a respected lord not biased towards either Alistair or Bann Esmerelle to observe the questioning. “It’s not normal but acting in such a transparent manner may sway more of the nobility in your favor. At the very least, it will give them pause to reconsider the rumors that have been circulating. I will send out the notices that you are convening a special court of High Justice. I will, with your permission, add their presence is welcomed, not required, and that you understand duty may prevent them from joining. ”

 

It was done. Constable Aidan was flattered the Warden-Commander thought so well of him and questioned the subjects thoroughly and without undue emotion, even though some of their actions disgusted him. At the end of the day, the prisoners were transported to Vigil’s Keep and housed overnight, still separated from each other.

 

Alistair stood at the entrance and watched the nobles arrive, “It really shouldn’t be so bright and sunny. You’d think the Maker could have provided some storm clouds to reflect the occasion.”

 

Seneschal Varel raised an eyebrow, “You didn’t put it on my list, sir.” He was starting to get used to the young man’s inclination to use humor to hide his nervousness or emotions. Jannasilane snorted in amusement. “Riordan has all the Wardens and the Cousins patrolling the perimeter, out of sight of our ‘guests.’ You did say you don’t want this to be seen as a Grey Warden affair,” he reminded Alistair. He approved of the Arl’s wardrobe, the dark trousers paired with Amaranthine colors. Only his steel armbands reminded his audience that he was also the Warden-Commander of Amaranthine. “Mistress Woolsey is most displeased that she is not allowed to openly be present.”

 

“Mistress Woolsey is simply displeased and would be displeased whether she was present or not. I am beginning to think ‘Displeased’ is her first name. She should be thankful I’m allowing her to observe the proceedings at all, but I know that’s too much to ask. The last thing I need is her obvious disapproval glaring at me and everyone else. This day is going to be difficult enough without that,” Alistair said sourly. Jannasilane and the Seneschal agreed. They followed him back to the main hall and stood on either side of the Arl’s seat. The Arl Warden-Commander watched the various nobles enter and take their places, their moods as serious as his own. Once he was satisfied that no more were coming, indeed, he wasn’t sure if there were any more in the entire Arling, he signaled the Seneschal.

 

“This session of Court will now begin,” Varel declared loudly. “Those present will come to order. Captain Garevel, bring forward the first prisoner.” The captain left through a doorway leading into a small parlor where all the prisoners waited.

 

Even though most knew of her arrest, the lords and ladies were still shocked to see Bann Esmerelle in chains. If it weren’t for the chains and the guards escorting her they wouldn’t have guessed she was a prisoner. She was as haughty and well dressed as ever as she stood looking down her nose at the young man in the seat of power. She completely ignored Varel while he read the charges against her.

 

“Bann Esmerelle, your blatant disregard for the safety and welfare of your people is a disgrace to all those with authority, be they king or shopkeeper. As a boy, I watched Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan care for their lands. I traveled with Blake Cousland for over a year and he never shirked his duties, even though he was thrust into a life he didn’t want because of the selfish, cold, grasping actions of another.” Some of the crowd stirred uneasily at the reminder of his predecessor. “Teyrn Fergus Cousland has the difficult and heart-wrenching task of rebuilding Highever amidst the memories of his dead family, yet he never once flinched from the responsibilities that come with the title. He gave me full run of the remnants of his library and answered all my questions about running a teyrnir with probably more patience than a Revered Mother while I tried to learn as much as I could. These people are the examples of what nobles should be and how I hope my term as Arl is remembered. You are a prime example of what a noble should not be. With title and power comes responsibility to the people under your auspice. Her Majesty granted the Arling to the Grey Wardens and they in turn entrusted it to me. I endeavor to live up to their trust and expectations on a daily basis. This is my promise to those here and all the citizens of Amaranthine.”

 

Alistair paused to take a breath and let his words fill the room. They weren’t for Bann Esmerelle’s benefit; he wanted to make sure all those present, and the waiting prisoners, heard him and understood. _“Maybe this is what I should have said during the fealty ceremony,”_ he thought. He’d practiced his speech several times with Janna, who turned out to be quite a good critic. “While investigating a possible source of the darkspawn plaguing our lands we traveled through Old Stark’s farm and were surprised to see a group of people since we understood the place was long deserted. We approached cautiously; an abandoned holding would make a convenient hideout for bandits or other miscreants. One of them spied us and identified us to his confederates and immediately they attacked us. Ser Timothy, Lord Guy, Lady Liza Packton and assorted confederates lay dead in the field when we finished fighting. Among Liza Packton’s possessions was a letter from you, Bann Esmerelle. I can only presume she needed to show the others she was acting on your behalf. Most of the letter’s content was in code. We were able to decipher it without any difficulty.” The woman before him stiffened slightly, stung by his words and perhaps finally concerned.

 

“My men and I quietly took possession of the properties belonging to the conspirators and searched for evidence. Evidence we found quite easily after your code was broken,” Captain Garevel added. “Even now one guard remains at each holding, guarding against trespass instead of patrolling the arling. We found enough information against you to warrant your arrest and that of your children. We uncovered more after going through each room of your home with a fine tooth comb.” He raised his hand to signal the guards to bring in the remaining prisoners, Bann Esmerelle’s children and Temmerly the ‘Ox.’

 

“You had no right to search my belongings,” the Bann exclaimed indignantly. “I’m not some low, common thug or peasant.”

 

“I had every right to authorize such a search,” Alistair answered sharply. “I am the Arl of Amaranthine and when criminal activity is brought to my notice I can and will act upon it. We did not arrest you on suspicion or rumor, but hard evidence. Your crimes go beyond those against my person and so against the arling. You swore an oath of loyalty, which was false. When you stood in this same hall and made your pledge you were lying. You had already confirmed a contract with the Antivan Crows to kill the new Arl, a contract made before I was named Warden-Commander and about which preliminary negotiations were initiated before Queen Anora announced that Amaranthine was to be given to the Grey Wardens!”

 

“What?” “That’s outrageous.” “We have darkspawn running around and you add assassins?” “For shame, Esmerelle, for shame,” the onlookers cried out. Any sympathy or concern about one of their own being arrested was fast diminishing.

 

“Only the Maker knows what lives might have been saved or property salvaged without the . . . impediment of hired assassins on our heels. I have forwarded evidence of your collusion with Renden Howe in matters of a possibly treasonous nature to Denerim. It will be up to Their Majesties to decide on any action. Today the most heinous of the crimes charged against you, your children, and Ser Temmerly are murder, conspiracy to commit murder, and attempted murder.”

 

“Ser Temmerly, you received a note from Bann Esmerelle stating that Ser Tamra had evidence against you and the others. It suggested you ‘take care of the matter.’ She was dead less than 24 hours later and guards found you near her still warm body, blood spattering your armor. You stated, when first charged, that your presence was ‘coincidence,’ ‘the streets aren’t safe at night.’ Even if we assume Ser Tamra’s murder was merely fortuitous for you and your fellows, the evidence against you regarding the conspiracy against your Arl is damning and you will share Bann Esmerelle’s fate. Your holding was also searched,” Alistair added.

 

“I should have poked your woman while she was helpless at my feet and left my handprints all over her curvy corpse,” the ‘Ox’ snarled to the horrified gasps of the crowd behind him. Even Bann Esmerelle made a moue of distaste.

 

Alistair had to call upon all his templar discipline not to kill the bastard where he stood, “Thank you for your admission of guilt.” His smile was frightening; it was so at odds with the death in his eyes. Nathaniel once stated he thought lightning bolts were supposed to shoot out from his gaze. If he were present he would surely believe those rumors true.

 

“Bann Esmerelle, I find one aspect of this case particularly disgusting, that you involved your children in your crimes, to varying degrees. That you showed no regard for their welfare or future is baffling to me. Before I pronounce sentence, do either you or your sons and daughters have anything to say?”

 

“Arl Renden Howe was good to us, good to _me_ ,” she sneered haughtily. “The least I could do was seek vengeance for his death.”

 

“How can you still be loyal to that man?” Varel was incredulous. She didn’t answer him and he just shook his head in disbelief.

 

Alistair looked at each of her offspring in turn. The daughters just glared at him with venom, the middle son stared stoically, only the youngest son said anything, “She’s our mother. What else could we do?” The oldest son looked down at the ground, his shoulders sagging. He put his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

 

“Loyalty is an admirable virtue that is not always simple, especially when it becomes blind,” Alistair replied quietly, thinking of Ser Cauthrien.

 

He stood to pronounce sentence, “Bann Esmerelle, your title and all property is hereby remanded to the Arling until such time as more permanent dispensation is determined. A steward will be appointed until that time. For crimes against your Arl and Amaranthine, you will forfeit your life. In deference to your former position I will give you the choice of rope or blade. What say you?”

 

“I’ll take the blade, thank you.”

 

“So be it. Amanda and Grace, next time you leave your cells it will be your last view of Amaranthine. If the Chantry, not the same one for both of you, somewhere outside Ferelden wishes to take you in their service for the rest of your natural lives under those conditions and with full knowledge of your crimes then you will do so. If not, arrangements will be made to accommodate you in Fort Drakon. I hope, for your sakes, that the Chantry will take you in. Perhaps in time you will come to live a more productive life.” The two sisters started howling and cursing him, _“Or perhaps not,”_ he thought.

 

“Targ,” he turned his attention to the middle son, “you have been at your mother’s side during all her activities, blindly following her dictates. You will share her fate.” The young man blinked slowly, once, but otherwise showed no reaction. Alistair sighed, _“Another lost cause, damn the woman.”_ “Robert, you are the oldest and should have been more aware of and made more determined efforts to stop your mother’s actions.”

 

The man looked up at his Arl then and nodded in agreement, “You are right, my lord. I should have done better.”

 

“I understand that you have family in Nevarra and the Free Marches?” Alistair asked.

 

“Yes, my lord,” Robert and his youngest brother looked confused.

 

“You were not involved in the more egregious actions therefore your punishment is exile. A ship is due to leave for Nevarra next week. You will be on it with a small chest of personal possessions and 100 sovereigns to start a new life. You are not to return to Amaranthine for fifteen years, at which point you can petition the current Arl. Jonas will similarly go to the Free Marches but his banishment, due to his youth, is seven years. You do not need to stay with your family; your final destination is up to each of you as is the choice for how you start your new life. You will never have a claim to what should have been your birthright, so I suggest you think carefully before making any decisions. You will remain in your cells until your ships sail. Do you both understand?”

 

The two brothers looked at each other, neither quite believing they weren’t to be jailed or executed. They looked at their Arl and realized it was true. In unison the stuttered, “Y-yes, thank you, my lord.”

 

Finally, Alistair pronounced sentence on the last prisoner, his demeanor significantly colder, “Temmerly, I have already stated that you will share the fate of Bann Esmerelle. However, you have a wife and a young child so the disposition of your small holding is different. Is Lady Temmerly present?” Alistair noticed the large man sneering at his wife when a thin woman hesitantly stepped forward. He also noticed traces of old bruises on the side of her face and made sure he spoke gently, “My lady, you shall retain the property unless reasonable evidence suggests you share your husband’s guilt. A steward shall be appointed to make sure you have the knowledge and abilities to run the holding without outside assistance. This steward will be compensated with a small percentage of any income. I do not hold the sins of the father against the son, so do not wish to strip you and your child of your home. If you are proven another in the conspiracy, I will be forced to reconsider. For your sakes I hope not.” The poor woman sank to the ground in a curtsey, sobbing her gratitude.

 

“Miserable bastard,” Temmerly shouted.

 

Alistair ignored him. “Guards, take the prisoners to the courtyard. We will have this done.”

 

“You do not have to be the one to wield the blade, my lord,” Varel said quietly.

 

His Arl shook his head, “I need to demonstrate that I will carry out my own orders. If there is a next time, Maker forbid, I won’t need to do so, but today . . .” He’d already arranged for a Chantry sister to be on hand for the prisoners. He gave each of the condemned the opportunity to talk to her. The guards escorted the former bann to the executioner’s block where Alistair waited. She disdained to look at him and delicately knelt to the ground and laid down her head.

 

Not one noble could later report they saw any joy on the young Warden’s face. Alistair muttered a silent prayer, swung the axe in a swift arc, and severed her head quickly and cleanly. He left the axe on the block while his men carefully removed the body. He turned swiftly when he heard a commotion behind him; Targ escaped the hold of his guards and charged Alistair while yelling unintelligibly.

 

He was surprisingly fast and grabbed the axe that killed his mother before Alistair could reach it. The Warden-Commander had to dodge and roll before he could pull out his sword to meet Targ’s fury and grief. Targ was no trained soldier so the advantage of emotion and surprise quickly dissipated and he died in combat. Alistair looked down at him in sorrow and pity.

 

“You had no choice, my boy, I mean my lord,” Lord Eddelbrek said quietly behind him. “Her crimes warranted such a response. Targ, well, I’ve known Targ since he was a little baby. If he lived he would have continually come after you.”

 

“I know,” Alistair said just as quietly. “This death, defending her, it’s at least cleaner than the executioner’s blade. I think.”

 

The older man looked startled at first, and then nodded thoughtfully, “I suppose -”

 

He was interrupted by a breathless, disheveled lass, “The darkspawn are attacking Amaranthine, they’re attacking the city!” she gasped.


	92. Saving Amaranthine

“Darkspawn in the city, what shall we do?” The alarmed nobles turned to their Arl.

 

“Guards!” Alistair bellowed, silencing the concerned rumbling in the crowd. “Take the prisoners and secure them in the dungeon cells and then report to Captain Garevel.” He was already marching back into the Vigil to retrieve his armor. “Varel, get as many details as you can from the girl and have somebody recall the Wardens and Cousins. I’ll meet you in the main hall. My lords and ladies, you are welcome to stay in the Keep but it is quite possible that the darkspawn also plan to attack here, as they have before. If you stay, you are subject to the Seneschal’s orders. We can’t spare any soldiers to accompany you if you decide to go. The decision is yours. Wade, I want you and Herren working double time to finish repairs. If they attack please keep your forge going as long as you can. I can’t order you, I’m asking you.”

 

For once Wade didn’t indulge his inclination for histrionics, “Commander, we will do everything we can to help your soldiers. Take this armor. I made it from the golem shell; I’m not thrilled with it but it is stronger than anything else you have. I prefer you come back alive, even if it is abysmally cold in your turnip keep.” Wade couldn’t help himself.

 

Alistair grinned. He shook the smith’s hand, “Thank you, Master Wade, with this armor and the sword you crafted the darkspawn should tremble in fear.”

 

“My lord, I am going home. My people need to know and prepare for any problems. If anything happens, I want to be with my son. I don’t live far from here, I’m sure I’ll get there long before any darkspawn make an appearance. Thank you for your mercy,” Lady Temmerly curtsied and quickly scurried away.

 

_“Hmm, looks like Temmerly didn’t completely beat the backbone out of her. I have a hunch she’ll do just fine . . . if she survives,”_ Alistair thought as he hurried to his quarters.

 

“Master Wade is most ingenious, my Ali,” Jannasilane spoke admiringly of the new armor as she helped him put it on. The armor was similar to a sleeveless tunic, as Alistair had come to prefer, but Wade created bands, set with a variety of runes, to wrap around his upper arms. The chestpiece was long enough to reach the top of the boots and much more flexible than his heavy plate, small overlapping plates that would allow him to move easily. Wade had even engraved several of them with griffons.

 

“If we survive this, remind me to send a letter thanking Blake for sending Wade to us,” Alistair grabbed Vigilance, the sword created out of dragonbone, and kissed her hard before they returned to the main hall.

 

“Huh, if we survive this, _I’ll_ kiss _Anora_ ,” she muttered.

 

Alistair snorted, “Both Blake and I would like to see that.” The last of his Wardens and Cousins were just entering the hall, expressions grim. They pushed through the milling nobles who remained.

 

“Our forces will never reach Amaranthine in time, but perhaps a small group can move more quickly,” Captain Garevel suggested. Varel and Riordan concurred with his assessment.

 

“Jannalove, we’re going to battle once again. Nathaniel, Oghren, Anders . . . you’re with me. Warden-Constable Riordan, you’re in charge of the remaining Wardens and the Cousins. This might be another trick and we must defend Vigil’s Keep at all costs. We can’t allow the darkspawn armies to win. Captain Garevel, select a small group of men and follow us to Amaranthine. The rest will remain here under Varel’s command.”

 

“We will keep the home of you and the little one, my friend.”

 

“These walls will stand, Commander, don’t you worry,” Voldrik called out.

 

Dworkin was already talking to Riordan, “I have a bunch of new explosions for the beasties.” He cackled and rubbed his hands in a kind of manic glee.

 

Alistair didn’t wait for Garevel. He and his Wardens could travel faster and every minute was valuable. Mentally he reviewed the city’s layout. While they marched he thought and then talked, “If I was leading the darkspawn I’d attack the east gate; with all the refugees camped outside I could cause a lot more damage more quickly.”

 

“Yeah,” Oghren grunted and belched, “and the sodding darkspawn don’t care if they hurt their own kind. Be a lot of confusion for those guards.”

 

“We’re going to go in hard, fast and loud. I want to make it impossible for them to ignore us. If they turn around to attack us, it might give Amaranthine’s guards enough time to regroup and if we’re _really_ lucky contain the darkspawn. Jannalove, I want them to hear your song in the Deep Roads. Nate, aim for the ones farther away, herd them back. Oghren, Anders, do what you do. When the captain and his men arrive they can clean up behind us, deal with any that get past us.” Alistair didn’t speak again until they reached the city and saw darkspawn still ravaging the encampments outside the gates. The warrior snarled, “Let’s show these bastards what it means to mess with Grey Wardens.” He raised his arm, “Wardens, attack!”

 

Maybe the darkspawn were expecting them, maybe not. They certainly didn’t expect them so soon and the Wardens quickly cut down those outside the gates. Captain Garevel and his men arrived in time for the end of the initial skirmish and helped the Wardens press forward until the darkspawn incursion was defeated. They cleared out the vermin and rested in the Revered Mother’s office while waiting for the next wave reportedly coming. “Commander, shouldn’t we try to get to Vigil’s Keep? If that darkspawn messenger is correct then the Vigil is under attack; indeed it sounds like the Vigil is the main target.” Nathaniel questioned.

 

“Huh, who is this ‘Father’ and why would he warn us? Sounds like strange behavior for a darkspawn to me,” Oghren snorted. “Course, this whole business is mighty strange.”

 

Jannasilane shifted her position where she was resting on Alistair’s chest, “Oh, I think he was speaking truth,” she said, thoughtfully. “It is harder for me to understand these talking darkspawn, this is also truth.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving these people unprotected. There are more Grey Wardens with Riordan than here in Amaranthine; and the Vigil’s walls are stronger than ever, thanks to Voldrik. If the Messenger was telling the truth, well, I trust the Vigil to stand. If he was lying to trick us into leaving then he failed. Captain Garevel sent a scout to try and verify his information,” Alistair ended the speculation. _“If I’m wrong there’s nothing I can do. I made a decision and I must stick to it. One thing I learned from the Couslands, you must not appear to second-guess yourself, especially when it’s too late to change your mind. Doing that only makes you look weak and hurt you in the long run. Maker, I wonder how many times Blake just wanted to bang his head on the wall to stop the doubts. He couldn’t always have been as sure of himself as he seemed.”_

 

Anders stood and stretched, “I’m going to check on some of the injured. I can’t believe a merchant is peddling his wares in the hall,” he shook his head and walked out.

 

“They will be here soon, my Ali,” Jannasilane said softly before kissing him lovingly.

 

He wrapped his arms around and sat up with her locked in his embrace. They didn’t speak until he kissed the top of her hair, “I know; I can almost feel them.” They quickly put on the rest of their armor and strode out of the office. Alistair had a quick word with the Revered Mother while Jannasilane spoke to various survivors and reassured them as much as she could. Some were still in a glazed kind of shock but most were simply calm now that their initial fear was over and they were alive. The mere presence of their Arl, the Hero of Ferelden, and Arlessa helped.

 

The temporary peace was shattered when a soldier rushed in, “They’re coming from the Inn, the darkspawn are attacking from the Inn!”

 

“Somebody should tell them there aren’t any vacancies,” Alistair muttered to himself. He spoke more loudly, “Calm yourself, soldier. We _will_ stop them. Wardens, to me.” He opened the Chantry doors, strode outside, “Now it rains,” he grumbled, and slew a hurlock alpha that made its way to the top of the steps.

 

Many of the enemy's forces were the new darkspawn, the Children; so many that even the Wardens were breathless once they slew all the ones in the streets. They converged on the doorstep of the Crown and Lion, popped shoulders and rolled stiff necks, braced themselves and went inside. Jannasilane’s battle song rang through the tavern and shortly stilled the creatures. “They’re coming from upstairs,” Oghren warned.

 

“Damn the owners; I warned them that the smuggler’s entrance needed to be closed down. I bet they thought they could start up again,” Alistair shouted over the fighting. He smashed his sword into one of the grubs. They fought their way up the stairs and down the not-so-secret entrance to the cove, through the underground docks and out the small house outside the city proper only to come face-to-face with an emissary and armored golem. His ears still ringing from some of the blows he stared down at the inert golem, “You know . . . it’s an unfair advantage to put armor on a golem.” He looked around when the sound of cheering penetrated. A few guards and other citizens were looking sadly at their dead but most were happy to be alive and no longer under threat.

 

“Warden-Commander, sir, the darkspawn are all gone. The disease did not spread nearly as much as we initially thought. I doubt more than a quarter of the city was affected. Amaranthine owes you much,” Constable Aidan reported.

 

“My scout has not returned, Commander, and there has been no other word from the Vigil,” Garevel was concerned.

 

Alistair rubbed the bridge of his nose and thought a moment, “I don’t think there’s any more need to keep these people out of the city, do you Constable? Captain, you and your men stay and help the city guard establish some order before returning to the Vigil. Make sure there’s enough ale for Oghren,” he said in an attempt at humor.

 

“Hey! . . . Huh, good to know you’re thinkin’ of old Oghren’s welfare,” the dwarf interjected with a discreet, for him, belch. “What are we gonna be doin’ while Garevel here makes sure my cousin doesn’t find my stash?”

 

Alistair stared at him, “You have a stash? Of course you do, I shouldn’t have asked. Where’s the Messenger?”

 

“It is that I am here,” the darkspawn lisped. “Ready are you to protect Vigil’s Keep?”

 

Alistair shook his head and smiled mirthlessly, “Oh no, we’re taking the fight directly to the Mother bitch. And I think you can tell me where to find her.”

 

“Her home, it is here,” he drew a rough map in the dirt, “in a place where dragons came to die and a city was once built on their bones.”

 

“He’s referring to the Dragonbone Wastes, out west,” Nathaniel noted with interest. “There are many stories and legends; I went there once with Fergus on a dare. It’s an eerie, spooky place.”

 

“So was the Blackmarsh, let’s hope we do better in the dragons’ graveyard,” Anders remarked sourly.

 

Alistair let the Messenger go as promised and the Wardens headed west after getting some supplies. He hated taking anything when Amaranthine was suffering but the Wastes were on the other side of the arling and he didn’t know what he might find. “Riordan and his class of new Wardens may have passed right by here; it’s not that far from Soldier’s Peak,” he frowned slightly. “I wonder why he didn’t sense the Mother.”

 

“It’s not that close to the road, Commander,” Nathaniel observed. “It is more remote than you might think and only one way in or out, as I recall.”

 

“The bones of the dragon in the Blackmarsh had a certain power many decades later,” Jannasilane observed. “Perhaps the bones of many dragons help mask the presence of darkspawn?”

 

“Huh, maybe. If that’s the case, we’re going to need to patrol the area regularly after we defeat the Mother. Can broodmothers travel? I mean, there’s nothing that roots them to the ground, as far as I know. They’re big, and must be heavy . . . but with all those tentacles, arms, or whatever they should be able to shift. They have tentacles that are kind of like roots and can come up behind you . . . I just wonder if this Mother was always there or if she moved because of the dragon bones.” Just as he had on the road to Lothering Alistair speculated in order not to think of the losses behind him.

 

“By the Ancestors, look at all those bones. Some of those skulls are even bigger than you, you oversized human,” Oghren observed in awe.

 

“I can feel the power, the old magic . . . it saturates the air,” Anders marveled. He could understand why the Tevinters built a city here. He felt energized and knew his magic would be stronger and come to him easier.

 

Alistair nodded, “I feel it too. It reminds me of something,” he turned to Jannasilane in alarm. It reminded him of the Gauntlet. “Janna! Are you alright?”

 

“Give me a moment, my Ali,” she called, shuddering against the power of dragons. The old bones called to her, challenged her, and buffeted her. She wanted to soar into the air and rule the sky. She wanted . . . Jannasilane slowly opened her eyes. Nathaniel was kneeling on one knee in front of her, concerned.

 

“Mouse, is something wrong? Can I help?” he put his hand on her arm to steady her.

 

His voice reached her as if from a great distance and Jannasilane looked at him, she stared into his eyes, her own whirling rapidly. She leaned forward and gently kissed him on the lips. She framed his face with her hands and spoke, “You are a good man, Nathaniel Howe. This is truth. Remember it.” When she moved away, he felt bereft at first, and then warmed by her acceptance.

 

Anders sat beside him while staring at the small woman making her way to their Warden-Commander. The sight should have been ridiculous; a small curvy woman with bare feet and tousled hair approaching the large blond warrior with his arms crossed but somehow she reminded the mage of a priestess or goddess offering a boon to her favored one. He shook his head to clear it of the fanciful images.

 

“You are my Ali.” As she approached, he began to feel the power swirling through and around her. “All that I am is yours, always, this is truth,” she pronounced. Her voice, normally husky, had a new resonance or echo that vibrated through him. Everything about her was more, that’s the only way he could describe it.

 

Alistair claimed her; he crushed her to him and devoured her lips with his. “You are mine as much as I am yours, always,” he growled. He shuddered when some of the energy in her passed to him but he didn’t stop. He continued to absorb as much of it, and her, as he could.

 

“You know,” he looked at her thoughtfully, “for a moment I almost felt their battle cries coming at me. That’s a lot of power to handle. I still feel it resonating in me and that’s second-hand. I see it in you, now. Your eyes are darker and brighter at the same time. The colors are swirling differently. Your skin is practically humming. Are you okay?”

 

“I, yes. It is like and unlike the Gauntlet. That overwhelmed me, this challenges the griffon inside me but is something I can, um, channel or learn to ride like strong winds so I can use their power. I feel stronger, more alert, and sexier. This is truth,” she admitted.

 

“So, what was it like?” Oghren asked gruffly, “tasting the Cherryplum?” He, Anders and Nathaniel were keeping their distance until Alistair and Jannasilane were ready. When Nate told them about the energy around her Anders nodded his head thoughtfully and then explained about her sensitivity to magic and lyrium. He decided not to say he could still feel a faint hum coming from the rogue. “Even Ser Pounce-a-lot feels it, don’t you kitty?”

 

Nathaniel passed his fingers over his lips, “She told me to remember that I’m a good man.” He looked sideways at the dwarf, “I will say the Commander is a very lucky man.”

 

Jannasilane and Alistair joined them where they were sitting and waiting. She kissed Oghren on the cheek, causing him to blush, and then Anders and Nathaniel. Her face pinkened a little when she kissed the archer’s cheek. “Thank you for putting up with my, my idiosyncrasies,” she said shyly. Her demeanor now was such an odd contrast to her earlier behavior. “I am better now.”

 

“There was never anything wrong with you, my lady,” Nathaniel bowed gallantly over her hand. “Commander, I am ready to move forward.” Anders and Oghren also stood.

 

Alistair appreciated Nathaniel’s tact. _“I wonder why some of our other companions couldn’t have shown some of that same tact. Well, Leliana did. Could have used more of it from the others.”_ He nodded to the rogue and spoke to all of them, “Let’s go kill some darkspawn.”


	93. A Dead Mother is the Best Broodmother

They moved forward carefully. The skeletons not only still vibrated with power; they made convenient hiding places for the darkspawn. “I’m probably going to have nightmares about darkspawn coming out of eye sockets,” Alistair yelled during one exchange. Janna’s battle song bounced off the bones and gained an eerie resonance in the night. They saw their goal, an ancient Tevinter tower, behind a giant dragonbone archway. “Wait; is that a dragon fighting darkspawn?” Alistair asked, incredulous.

 

“This will be much more fun than fighting the Children,” Jannasilane growled.

 

“Ha! You got that right, Cherryplum,” Oghren grinned maniacally.

 

Alistair scowled, “We’re going to wait; let them bang on each other a while longer. Maybe they’ll kill each other off.” The dwarf and the woman pouted like two recalcitrant children but stayed put. Finally, the darkspawn lay in cinders at the dragon’s feet. “I want Nathaniel and Anders to concentrate on wings and feet, immobilize the beast. And try not to hit Janna. Attack!” Jannasilane was off.

 

“Look at Cherryplum go,” Oghren chortled, running behind her and next to the templar. “This is even better than that spirit dragon.”

 

“My Lady Mouse, you are indeed a most magnificent fighter of dragons,” Nathaniel congratulated her afterwards. “I thought I witnessed your skill in the Blackmarsh but I see now they were but a portion of your talents.”

 

Oghren startled to chuckle, causing the others to stare. “The way I heard it,” he began, “the Wardens were none too pleased when these skills first appeared. Commander Pike-twirler was a might upset.”

 

“Now is not the time,” Alistair tried to stop the dwarf; he rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration.

 

“Yeah, it’ll keep till we have ale and a cozy fire. Gotta do it justice,” he leered.

 

“Judging by Poppet’s blushes I’m sure it will be quite entertaining,” Anders’ eyes danced in amusement.

 

Nathaniel was studying the door for traps or other devices. He also wondered what story had Mouse’s face turning red but he wasn’t going to encourage Oghren, at least, not now. “This door seems safe enough, Commander. Be careful stepping through, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were traps on the other side.”

 

There was a surprise, but no traps when they entered the old structure. “I hoped Velanna would be with you,” a soft voice said from the shadows. Seranni stepped forward, “Wardens, the Architect means you know harm. He wants a home for the darkspawn, not all this fighting.”

 

“They are monsters, Seranni,” Alistair said gently.

 

“Only because they don’t know better,” she answered earnestly. “They are like children who don’t understand right from wrong. They just need to be taught, to be lead in the right direction. They aren’t mindless beasts, Commander.”

 

“Maybe not mindless, but their actions don’t inspire confidence. I’m sorry. Why don’t you come back with us, back to your sister?” Alistair wasn’t surprised by her answer. 

 

Seranni shook her head, “No, I need to help them learn. Tell Velanna I love her but she needs to stop looking for me. She needs to live her life.” She disappeared back into the shadows.

 

“She speaks truth, my Ali.”

 

The Warden-Commander shook his head, “She may believe it’s the truth. Clever of the Architect to echo the Dalish’ desire for a homeland to get her cooperation. I wonder why she’s so valuable to him . . .”

 

“Velanna will not like this, Commander,” Nathaniel observed quietly. Oghren snorted and muttered something about the prickly elf.

 

“No, but that will have to wait. This place is much bigger than I thought from the outside; it goes deep. Makes sense for the Mother to be here. If she’s as clever as the Architect then we should keep an eye out for traps,” Alistair warned.

 

“Commander, look at this,” Anders held up a strange crystal. “I can feel the power inside; it’s definitely not lyrium. It reminds me of something. Here Poppet, what do you think?”

 

Jannasilane blinked, “It, it feels warm but not hot.” She handed it back to Anders who tucked it into his pack. The Wardens moved forward carefully but quickly, picking up any more of the strange crystals they found. They fought and maneuvered their way across a bridge and down a spiral staircase, Children popping out of pods behind them and ogres blocking them in front.

 

At the bottom of the stairs, they rested briefly. Anders first healed their injuries and then walked in circles, studying the markings and sockets on the floor. He stopped and pulled one of the crystals out of his pack and began to smile, “I remember,” he said and placed it in one socket. It fit perfectly. Quickly he filled the others, completing an energy arc. He looked towards the Commander, “It’s a power circle, and if I remember correctly whoever completes the arc can call on that particular ability one time. This one is like my mind blast but bigger and more powerful. We can’t use it in the Tower structure proper, but if the Mother’s nest is outside of it-”

 

“-we’ll have an extra weapon in our arsenal. Good to know,” Alistair grinned. “It’s about time something went our way. Let’s go.” They crossed more bridges and descended more stairs. Alistair stopped them when they came across a darkspawn corpse, one not of their making, “Be wary, something powerful is ahead.” He stepped down cautiously, “It feels like . . . You.” He stopped and glared at the Architect.

 

“Commander,” the twisted creature floated towards them, “we were unable to continue our previous discussions.”

 

Alistair sneered, “I escaped, you mean. Being tied down and then caged is generally a sign you’re not invited for tea and crumpets.”

 

“I apologize; I was trying to avoid a misunderstanding such as the one at Vigil’s Keep. Alas, I am not very good at determining how your kind will act.” The unusual emissary explained that he wanted the Commander’s help to end the Blights.

 

“Duncan didn’t believe you over 20 years ago. Meeting you made him more determined than ever to defeat the darkspawn,” Alistair replied. He noticed Utha stiffen slightly and quickly glance up at the emissary, “I see you remember him. He was a good man and a good Warden; I see no reason to doubt his judgment now. In case you don’t understand me, the answer is no. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. Whatever you are doing stops here.”

 

“Most unfortunate. I’m sorry, Utha, I won’t be able to keep my promise after all,” he gracefully conjured a firestorm around him while Utha ran down the stairs and faced off against an angry Jannasilane.

 

“Ouch, I hate fighting in fire. I can’t help wondering if some of my hair got singed, making me look stupid,” Alistair complained when the battle was over. “At least this new armor protected me from the worst of the damage.”

 

“You are still most handsome, my Ali,” Jannasilane reassured him. “Perhaps you should risk helmet hair if you are concerned.” Anders grinned at the exchange. He had questions but they could wait until they were back at the Vigil.

 

Alistair glared at his love, “You know wearing a helmet makes me feel muffled, like I can’t hear everything. What I need is a hat, something dashing and romantic and _enchanted_.”

 

“I don’t think that would look right with your armor, your fine clothes yes,” Anders ventured his opinion with a twinkle in his eye. “A band to wear on your head, metal of course but lined with leather or cloth, something simple and not at all royal looking. Maybe something to match your griffon armbands.”

 

“Yeah, well, _Commander,_ ” Oghren rolled his eyes, “you and Sparklefingers can discuss fashion later. We still have a broodmother to find.”

 

“I know that,” Alistair huffed. “I just wanted to make sure none of us had any embers which might burst into flame. Our ashes are not going to defeat any darkspawn, you know.”

 

“Yes, they would probably just use them for snuff,” Nathaniel suggested quietly.

 

The others stared at him until Oghren guffawed and slapped him on the back, nearly knocking him over. Anders shook his head in bemusement, “Nate, you made a joke. It’s a disgusting thought but you actually made a joke.”

 

Alistair chuckled and picked up his shield, “I’m glad we avoided that fate. It’s a most undignified end for a Grey Warden. All embers stamped out? Good.”

 

“You haven’t said anything. I hope I didn’t disgust you, Mouse,” the rogue remarked.

 

Jannasilane looked up at him and smiled, “I was just wondering whether the darkspawn would prefer gold or silver snuffboxes.” Nathaniel grinned at her.

 

“We can’t go any lower and there are no more bridges. The only thing I see is this tunnel; if the broodmother is here she must be through there,” the Warden-Commander looked around carefully while Anders placed the last of the crystals. “Do you know what they all are?”

 

“We have one giant stun, some sort of revive and heal, and two fire spells at our disposal. I don’t know about you but I’m ready to finish this bitch off and go home.”

 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself. The tunnel’s not wide enough for two of us. Nathaniel, you’re in front in case there are any traps, I’ll be right behind you. Oghren, bring up the rear,” Alistair ordered and started to duck inside after the rogue. He stopped and scowled, “Oghren, you’ll have to go next. I’m too tall to move easily in case of trouble.” He waited for all of his companions to enter and gave them and him some space before he entered. Mercifully, the tunnel was very short.

 

“This place is most unpleasant, my Ali,” Jannasilane grimaced. “That foul creature in the distance must be the ‘Mother.’ I see no other. She almost looks like she is on a throne.”

 

Alistair looked around. Most of the ground was marshy and insubstantial, gas bubbles occasionally rose to the surface and burst, emitting a noxious odor that mixed with the already fetid atmosphere. One long thin strip of land led to an island. His love was correct; the way the ground rose and seemed to surround the creature it did look like she was on a throne. “I think we better knock her off of it, don’t you? Move forward slowly, I don’t like the looks of those lumps in the ground. They look like they might be pods to me.”

 

“That figures,” Oghren scowled. “Man, look at all those nipples,” he murmured in a fascinated disgust when they got closer to the broodmother.

 

“They just get uglier and uglier don’t they?” Anders commented.

 

The Mother didn’t look the same as the other broodmothers. She had arms like the Children and a psychotic intelligence gleaming out of her beady eyes. “So, the Warden has killed the Father and now comes to me. Ha ha ha, the Father took the song away, will the Grey Warden bring it back?” she asked in a coy singsong.

 

Her voice grated on his ears, the coyness wrapped around malevolence and delivered with a raspy tone. Alistair gritted his teeth, “Who is the Father? We killed the Architect.”

 

“They are the same,” she snapped. “He claimed he wished the darkspawn to be free. What he truly wanted was to CORRECT them![1] He was the one who started the last Blight, trying to perform his ritual on Urthemiel. But I know the Wardens’ wicked ways . . . it wants to kill the Mother.”

 

“Got it on the first try, you win the prize. That prize is a date with my blade,” Alistair roared.

 

The Mother shrieked; a sound that rivaled any of Jannasilane’s battle songs, and Children erupted from their pods at the same time tentacles popped up from the ground and attacked any nearby Wardens. Already tired from their battles with the dragon and the Architect the group was grateful Anders gathered up the crystals and knew how to arrange them. The first firestorm decimated the Children. The Mother only called for more. Anders exhausted the power of the crystals before the Mother was left alone and vulnerable. With a battle cry that rang in the stillness, Alistair rushed forward and buried a sword in the creature’s throat. Later he would swear she had a smile on her face.

 

It was over. The Children and their Mother lay dead on the ground. Anders was weaving from exhaustion and began to laugh, “A date with your blade, Commander? I thought you reserved your ‘blade’ for Poppet.” Oghren began to snicker and even Nathaniel had to chuckle at the look of horror on their Commander’s face.

 

“Should I be jealous, Alistair?” Jannasilane stood in front of him with her arms akimbo and tried to maintain a straight face.

 

“That is _so_ not what I meant and you know it. I hate you all,” Alistair stalked off and nearly hit his head on the top of the tunnel before remembering. He smiled to hear the laughter behind him even if it was at his expense. They needed the laughter after the battles they fought.

 

They picked their way past the bodies and breathed deeply once they were outside again. “I want a bath,” Jannasilane looked at herself in disgust. “The first stream we pass on the way home we shall all bathe. It may not be perfect but it will be better than _this_ ,” she pointed to each of them.

 

“We need to see how the Vigil is faring. They are under attack,” Nathaniel reminded her.

 

“Jannasilane is right. If we don’t rest for even an hour or two we will be no good to them. Anders can hardly walk straight and even I can see how pale Oghren is under his beard. We bathe and take a short break,” Alistair decided.

 

“If I remember correctly there is a very pleasant spring not far away,” Nathaniel acquiesced. Secretly he was glad they would have a chance to relax, even for such a brief time. His arms felt like they’d been firing arrows for a month with no respite.

 

Renewed they made better time. “After the Archdemon was slain, the darkspawn in Denerim quickly became a disorganized mob and ran away. They didn’t have a purpose driving them anymore. I suspect the same is happening again. I bet we find mostly the intelligent darkspawn still attacking the walls,” Alistair postulated. “I wonder how loyal they are to her now that she’s dead.”

 

“If they are retreating I don’t want to get in their way. The faster those creatures are away from my stash the better,” Oghren growled.

 

Alistair coughed, “Good . . . point. We’ll approach from the side and see what’s going on. If we have to, we’ll draw them off. Frankly, if they’re retreating I say let them. We know they’ll go back to the Deep Roads and we’ll have a chance to assess the damage and reorganize.”

 

“Look at her,” Alistair stared proudly at his home. “I knew she’d stand. Ugh, that’s a lot of bodies we’ll have to burn,” he observed.

 

“You were right, Commander,” Nathaniel eyed the scene in front of them, “there aren’t nearly as many darkspawn still attacking as there should be. Even the number of darkspawn corpses isn’t enough to make up the army that attacked. If the Messenger told the truth.”

 

The darkspawn howled in frustration when the Warden-Commander attacked them from behind. Some escaped to follow their brethren and the rest joined the dead. Cheers sounded from the walls as the soldiers saw their Arl, their Warden-Commander safely home.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

[1] _A paraphrase of a quote I found in the Dragon Age wiki, http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/The_Mother._


	94. Amaranthine and the Vigil Recover

“Water’s getting cold,” Alistair remarked lazily. He rubbed his chin against Jannasilane’s wet hair. He was tired. Between chasing down the last of the darkspawn, examining the damage, rebuilding the Vigil and the city of Amaranthine, and dealing with the administrative resulting from Bann Esmerelle’s unsuccessful conspiracy he’d had little time to eat or sleep. He winced whenever he thought of the strain on his resources. Whatever romantic notions he had when he and his Janna entered the bathing chamber disappeared the moment he stepped into the steaming bath.

 

Jannasilane was no more inclined to move than he was. Letting her aches and stress melt away in the welcome heat were much more important. She stirred slightly, “If one of us was a mage we could reheat the water with a twist of our finger.”

 

“I’d ask Anders if he were here but then he’d probably insist on joining us,” Alistair yawned. “I think we fell asleep.”

 

“I think you are correct,” she remarked. Slowly they stood up and leaned against each other for support. Jannasilane snickered when she felt his manhood stirring against her, “One of us isn’t completely dead.”

 

 “Not completely alive, either,” he murmured. “Maker, I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired. I think it was dealing with all those nobles. I just wanted to get about my business, not chit chat at every holding or listen to their ‘advice.’”

 

“You were wonderful, my Ali. I think they only wanted to make sure you knew how much they appreciated you; at the very least, it would be rude to ignore the Arl checking up on their holdings for damage. They do not know you are not concerned with such observances. I know our people much appreciated your taking time to see to their welfare in spite of your fatigue. I am proud of you, this is truth.”

 

“Listen to you, the little Arlessa, ‘our people,’” he chuckled when she sniffed and glared at him. “They worked hard; it was the least we could do. I’m glad you stayed by my side,” he stroked her hair and held her for a moment longer. They finally dressed and stepped into the hallway where Nugflutter and Poorfella waited. Poorfella woofed to see them and Nugflutter pranced around them.

 

“They take their guard duties seriously, Warden-Commander,” Varel emerged from the shadows, smiling. “Robert and Jonas arrived in Cumberland and Tantervale, respectively. A letter from Robert waits on your desk. Arl Commander, I have good news.”

 

The big man looked skeptical, “Good news? Are you sure? Not that we aren’t overdue for some.”

 

Varel chuckled, “Word of your heroic exploits and the damage to Amaranthine, damage which would have been much worse without your efforts, has spread across Ferelden and beyond. Money is beginning to pour in, money to help rebuild.”

 

“Pinch me to see if I’m dreaming,” Alistair replied in a daze. “Ouch!” he jumped when Jannasilane did just that to his rear. Varel coughed to cover his laughter. Alistair glared at the woman beside him.

 

“Your wish is my command, my Ali,” she said meekly.

 

“Really? You may regret saying that,” he growled. Remembering their audience, he turned his attention back to the Seneschal, “Thank you, Varel. That _is_ good news; I was beginning to wonder how we were going to pay for all this.”

 

Jannasilane cocked her head thoughtfully, “Perhaps we can hire Soris to help start the rebuilding; he has experience after Denerim. Will workers in the city listen to an elf?”

 

Varel looked startled, “I don’t know . . . perhaps if you personally introduce him and some of the Cousins work with him, at least to start . . . I just don’t know.”

 

“Well, we’ll give it a try. He has some interesting ideas and knows how to squeeze a silver out of a copper,” Alistair decided. “Mistress Woolsey should approve of _that_.” Mistress Woolsey did not approve. Nor did she approve of the fact that Alistair had no intention of appropriating the bulk of incoming money for the Wardens or that he was not going to share any of his unexpected largesse with the First. Her reactions only made Alistair more determined to find a replacement for the woman.

 

Once the first edge of his appetite was sated, Alistair looked around the dining hall. Soldiers and Wardens ate, laughed, and argued with each other. A normal scene. Alistair smiled. “Why are you smiling, my Ali?” Jannasilane wanted to know.

 

“All this,” he waved his hand to encompass the entire room, “it’s all so, I don’t know, it’s like we’re finding our rhythm again.”

 

“Yes, I see what you mean, Commander,” Captain Garevel was thoughtful.  “I know my men are relieved to be returning to their usual duties. I’ve worked out a rotation so they can regularly check on their families during their patrols. No one said anything but they all relaxed a little.”

 

Riordan nodded his head, “The healing has begun. When I was in Amaranthine the other day I passed two men arguing whether it was better to be in the city guard or your, the Arl’s, army. One said the pay and benefits was better with you; the other agreed but pointed out it was a lot of walking and as a city guard he could ‘put the pissheads in jail.’ They then stopped arguing to list all the pissheads they wanted to see behind bars. You will be pleased to know that your name was not mentioned, at least not while I was still in earshot.” The others chuckled.

 

Before retiring for the evening, Alistair decided to sort through his correspondence so he could more quickly deal with it on the morrow. _“It’s nice of some of the nobles to send letters thanking me for what I’ve done but I wish most of them didn’t come with a ‘small request,’”_ he shrugged his shoulders and continued sorting. He took three letters upstairs to share with Jannasilane before locking up. He stood in the doorway for a moment just watching her brush her hair. “Let me,” she allowed him to take the hairbrush from her and followed him to their bed. He sat behind her and began stroking the wild silk, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of your hair; luxurious doesn’t even begin to describe it. You might want to read these,” he dropped the letters in her lap.

 

The first was from Robert Brotuss.

 

_“Arl and Commander,_

_My lord, thank you for the mercy you showed my brother and me. I’ve done a lot of thinking since I was in your cell and on the boat to Cumberland. You were right; I should have been more aware and done something to prevent Mother’s mad machinations against you. At the very least, I could've warned you to be wary. I promise not to waste the second chance you gave me. You included our small contributions against the darkspawn in your letters to our family and the captains of the guard; a most unaccepted boon that has made my life in Cumberland easier._

_I will not let you down; I swear by Andraste. I will explore the opportunities in Cumberland and then go to Tantervale to see Jonas. I hope, and believe, he came to the same conclusions as I have during his journey. Is that why you separated us? I always wondered. Jonas will fare better with me and it’s time we took responsibility for our lives whether we end up in Cumberland, Tantervale, or some other place to give us the best start. I don’t know if I ever want to return to Amaranthine, I find the idea of making a completely fresh start quite appealing._

_Yours with gratitude,_

_Robert Brotuss, plain citizen of Thedas”_

Jannasilane snickered, “I have a good feeling about this young man, my Ali. I think ‘plain citizen’ Brotuss will succeed.”

 

“Young man? He’s older than I am, though not by much.”

 

She picked up the second letter.

 

_“Commander of the Grey of Ferelden, Alistair Theirin,_

_We have received and reviewed your accounts of the Archdemon and this Architect creature. We now request your presence in Weisshaupt to discuss these matters further. Please let us know the details of your arrival._

_Chamberlain of the Grey, Weisshaupt Fortress,_

_On behalf of the First Warden”_

“This is not a request at all, but an order. What will you do?” she turned to him, eyes swirling with distress. She hated the very thought of Weisshaupt.

 

He kissed her and turned her back around so he could continue brushing her hair, “Let me think, this is the same person who didn’t bother trying to send us any help during the Blight after the Orlesians were blocked and only sent Mistress Woolsey to ‘assist’ us here in Amaranthine after the Vigil was attacked. The same person who knows I am also the Arl of Amaranthine and we have a lot of work to repair the damage caused by the Architect’s and Mother’s feud. Does he think I’m just some stupid bastard? Oh . . . wait, I am a bastard . . . oof,” he grunted good-naturedly when she elbowed him. “Seriously though, I don’t have time to go all the way to the Anderfels and I plan on telling him so. Actually, this may fall in with an idea I have to better train our young Wardens. I thought I would reach out to Ansburg, Jader and Montsimmard about a temporary exchange: two of our newest Wardens for them and two of their senior Wardens for us. Our Wardens will need to interact with other Grey Wardens anyway and they may learn things I don’t even know to teach them. Certainly going on patrols with experienced Wardens won’t hurt them. We’ll get the benefit of senior Wardens for, say, two or three months. I want to build relations with the different outposts and these are the closest of any size that I know of.”

 

“I can see this being good for our Wardens, but how does this fit with the First Warden’s ‘request?’”

 

“First I’ll offer to host him and his advisors here for as long as they need, though I doubt they’ll come. You remember that I have to go to Highever and Orzammar? I’ll suggest that I am willing to compromise with a meeting in Montsimmard if they can’t come to Amaranthine. They don’t have to know I’m tacking them on. If Jader and Montsimmard are willing then I’ll accompany our new Wardens before meeting the First or his people. I’ve always wanted to see other parts of Thedas. I wish you could come with me but I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he kissed the top of her head.

 

She shook her head slightly and picked up the third letter.

 

_“Alistair,_

_What are you and Package trying to do? Upstage the Blight? Somebody started writing a serial titled ‘Amorous Adventures in Amaranthine’ that sells out before the ink is dry. Don’t be surprised if you’re mobbed the next time you’re in Denerim. I’m tempted to get a few special editions and give them to our friends._

_Anora and I are quite pleased at how well you’ve handled the unusual circumstances that hit you on your arrival. Our security advisors are going over the information you sent us and should have a report ready by the time you come to Denerim. We have some questions we feel better discussing in person. You can stay in the Cousland estate since I don’t think the Warden compound is finished yet. Package too, you can carry her in your pocket._

_Your brother (and king),_

_Blake Cousland”_

“I suppose he refers to the information about Bann Esmerelle,” Jannasilane tapped Blake’s letter with her finger.

Alistair nuzzled her hair, “He also is basically ordering us to Denerim. Not that I mind,” he quickly added, “I was going to go anyway. I think he understood there are some things I just don’t want to put into a report and the only cipher I know is the Grey Warden one. If we’re going to try and keep Warden and Arl business separate I don’t think sending the king of Ferelden messages with Grey Warden encryption is a good idea.” He put the brush and letters on the bedside table and pulled her into his arms, “I do think we should explore these ‘amorous adventures in Amaranthine’ more closely.”

 

“That, my Ali, is a most wonderful idea,” she smiled against his lips. Then she pushed him back against the pillows.


	95. Departures and Arrivals

Riordan knocked lightly before entering the Commander’s office. Now that the crisis was over, he was leaving soon for Soldier’s Peak and wanted to discuss a few things first. He planned to take Nathaniel, Sigrun, and Oghren with him for some additional training. “Is there any chance Velanna will come?” The Dalish elf had been quieter and broodier ever since Alistair told her about her sister. She reluctantly accepted that her sister felt she had a mission, even more reluctantly agreed with him that Seranni had probably been duped, but that didn’t stop her from going out on every patrol hoping to find either her sister or her sister’s trail.

 

“Oghren and Velanna in close and unrelieved proximity for a few weeks? Even if I thought she could be convinced I wouldn’t do that to you, especially since you’re a friend,” Alistair snorted.

 

“I am relieved to hear it,” the older Warden replied with a slight smile. “We need to discuss who will take my place at Soldier’s Peak. In a few short months I think I must answer my Calling,” he reminded his young friend. “Since we don’t have any truly senior Wardens at our disposal I was thinking Nathaniel or possibly Saykor would be a good choice. They are both more mature than the other new Wardens are and are generally of a steady disposition. Since young Howe was once his father’s heir he should have some training upon which to build.”

 

“Janna doesn’t like to think of you leaving us, but you’re right. I wish there was a more experienced Warden available but Nathaniel is a good choice. I think he might like the challenge, though he needs more Deep Roads experience. Which reminds me,” he explained his idea of a Warden Exchange program, at least until he had enough experienced Wardens to make it unnecessary. Riordan made some suggestions based on his knowledge of Orlais and the Free Marches. Alistair then showed him the letter from the First and his reply, “What do you think?”

 

“This does not come as a surprise. I must warn you; not going to the Anderfels isn’t going to endear you to the Grey Warden leadership. Your reasoning is sound; it is too soon after the devastation caused by these new darkspawn for the Arl of Amaranthine to leave for an extended period. Possibly even for a Commander of the Grey. I do not think you will have a problem making an arrangement with Warden-Commander Clarel de Chanson to accommodate you. She will be most interested in hearing about these new darkspawn firsthand rather than through official channels. It will not hurt her status in Orlais if the most senior Wardens visit her post.”

 

“Politics. I suppose I have to get used to that,” Alistair replied glumly. They spoke of many things, including a replacement for Woolsey. Both agreed that Ser Mhairi might be a good choice, if she had the ability.

 

The quiet stranger was glad to get off the ship when it docked in Amaranthine. The Waking Sea was particularly unfriendly during his voyage and he was an indifferent sailor under the best conditions. For a short time he wandered the streets, taking note of the rebuilding going on and listening to locals gossiping. He didn’t talk much himself but his years growing up in Orlais taught him how to listen without seeming to eavesdrop. What he heard made him curious about the young Arl of Amaranthine. Rather than going to Vigil’s Keep immediately he decided he would do better to find a room for the night. He entered the Crown and Lion. After getting the key to his room, he surveyed the crowded tavern. The only available seats were at a small table where a young redheaded elf was sitting by himself. He walked over, “Do you mind company, friend?”

 

Surprised at being so addressed, Soris looked up and stammered, “N-no. P-please sit down. My n-name is Soris.”

 

The man quietly pulled out a chair and sat down, “You may call me Stroud. What do you recommend? I am unfamiliar with Amaranthine.”

 

“It’s all good, though I prefer their lamb stew. I think it has real lamb.” Stroud listened gravely and raised his hand to get the waitress’s attention. She came over promptly. Soris tried to be resentful at the quick service but knew it was because the owners didn’t want elves staying at their establishment rather than her preference. She was as helpful to him as she could get away with. _“I wish Amaranthine had an Alienage I could stay in,”_ he thought wistfully. He never thought he’d miss the one in Denerim. _“I bet I’d be in the streets if Alistair didn’t personally arrange for me to stay here. I guess this is what it means to have friends in high places.”_

“So, um, Stroud, what brings you to Amaranthine? I don’t mean to pry,” the elf hurriedly added. The last thing he wanted to do was drive away one of the few people to be even remotely friendly.

 

“I thought to explore the city this afternoon before heading to Vigil’s Keep tomorrow morning.”

 

“You’re going to see Al-, I mean Arl Warden-Commander? He and Blake, er, His Majesty, helped us a lot. They got rid of the slavers plundering the Alienage and later, during that last battle . . . well, a lot of us would be dead who aren’t because of them,” Soris’ eyes lit up as he talked about the Wardens who helped him and gave him unprecedented opportunities. Some of the locals, overhearing, chimed in with their own opinions and stories. Stroud remained silent and expressionless, except for occasionally nodding his head, absorbing the flood of information.

 

Trey and Alan entered the inn and headed straight to Soris, “Hey Soris, we’re ready to get to work but instead we find the boss having a long lunch.” The elf’s flush contrasted horribly with his hair. He introduced the two Cousins to the new arrival.

 

Two pairs of eyes studied him. “We have to return to the Keep in the morning, we’ll accompany you,” Alan lied smoothly. After the Esmerelle conspiracy, the Wardens and Cousins were very protective of their Commander. “The Wending Wood can be tricky if you are new to the area.”

 

His lie might have gone undetected if Soris hadn’t looked startled but Stroud didn’t say anything. Instead, he replied politely, “I appreciate the offer. I shall be ready to leave immediately after breakfast.” The two Cousins smiled sunnily and escorted Soris away before he could give voice to their lie.

 

By the time they arrived at Vigil’s Keep late the next afternoon Trey and Alan were a bit disgruntled by their failure to elicit any more information from Stroud. The guards seemed to ignore him after the Cousins said he was there to see the Commander but Stroud knew they observed his every movement. He approved their vigilance. “Hey, Sigrun,” Alan called out to a young dwarva in the courtyard, “is the big guy in his office? He’s got a visitor.”

 

“Hi Cuz. He was sparring but I think he’s in the stables with Little Duster,” she called back. “Oh wait, here he comes now. Commander, somebody here to see you. Little D, you ready to spar with me now? I’ve got my earrings in.” She flicked her ear lobes.

 

Stroud watched the large warrior with interest. Stories about the Hero of Ferelden were very popular in the Free Marches. The handsome young Warden and his lady facing down the Archdemon together beside the future king was material too tempting for any minstrel or player to ignore. Stroud wasn’t the only Warden to wonder why the large warrior didn’t die on that rooftop and many thought there was something fishy involved. He would keep his eyes and ears open but that is not why he was in Ferelden.

 

“Hi,” Alistair flicked his glance from the stranger in front of him to the two Cousins and back.

 

“We found him in Amaranthine and thought we should accompany him since he was a stranger to the area. His name is Stroud,” Trey volunteered.

 

“Good idea,” the large man smiled while appraising the older man before him. He stuck out his hand, “I’m Alistair, as you must have figured out already. Jannasilane says you’re a Warden. I did wonder . . . well, if you’re a Warden then you’re probably hungry. Or would you like to freshen up first? After a year of tents and roughing it I really appreciate the small pleasures such as being able to wash before a meal.” Alistair led Stroud into the Keep, “Varel, this is Warden Stroud. Varel is our seneschal and can show you to a guest room and the dining hall. I’ll meet you there shortly.” He strode away with a smile while his mind raced with possibilities.

 

“This way, sir,” Varel directed. He decided this unexpected guest could stay in the most remote of the guest rooms. He also planned to talk to Garevel about having a guard stroll that area at night just in case.

 

Jannasilane joined Alistair in their room. “Others were already sparring; Sigrun and I will do so later,” she answered his unspoken query. “Besides, I am most curious about this Warden. It is too soon for him to be here in response to your letters.”

 

When they entered the dining hall, Stroud was already sitting at the table with Riordan and, they had to blink to be sure, Mistress Woolsey. “This can’t be good,” Alistair muttered under his breath. He plastered on a smile and approached, “I see you had no trouble finding your way. Mistress Woolsey, I am pleased to see you joining us. Stroud, I’d like to present Jannasilane Alenahaella, without whom I’d probably be insane.”

 

“Really, Commander,” Woolsey sniffed disapprovingly.

 

Stroud stood and bowed slightly to the small woman, “Jean-Marc Stroud, senior Warden of the Free Marches, at your service, my lady.” He couldn’t help thinking that next to the young giant she looked like a little girl, at least until you noticed her well-placed curves or looked into her eyes.

 

“Welcome to Vigil’s Keep, Warden Stroud,” she spoke softly, her husky voice delighting his ears until he realized what she said. His eyes narrowed slightly, remembering Alistair’s previous comments but he said nothing. “It is a pleasure to meet another experienced Warden.” Jannasilane sat down and Stroud followed suit.

 

“Warden Stroud is one of the most successful recruiters and trainers in the Order,” Woolsey commented. “Perhaps while he is here you can learn something, Commander.”

 

_“Oh, ouch,”_ Alistair inwardly winced. At least this Stroud appeared to be a good sort and certainly didn’t seem happy with the old harpy’s phrasing. He hoped none of his thoughts showed on his face, “I’m always up for learning more about the Grey Wardens and ways to improve. I sent a letter to the Commander in Ansburg but it’s a bit soon for you to be his reply.”

 

“Since word of your success has spread, recruiting has been much easier. With our ranks full, the Commander thought it worthwhile for me to come and find out more about these new ‘Children.’ While I am here I thought I would explore some of their nesting grounds so we would know what to look for,” Stroud explained soberly. Then he smiled slightly, “I also admit to wanting to travel somewhere new. After years of recruiting I believe I know where every rock in the Free Marches is located.”

 

Alistair nodded his head, “Makes sense. Come to my office after lunch and I’ll show you what we have. Kal’Hirol was the biggest nest, as far as we know. I’ll arrange for a couple of our Wardens to go with you.”

 

“That is not necessary, Commander. I am used to traveling alone,” Stroud protested politely.

 

The Warden-Commander was adamant, “Not on my watch. Nobody patrols or explores alone, no matter how experienced. It’s an unnecessary risk now that we have more than two Wardens in Ferelden. I certainly don’t want to write another letter to your Commander explaining how you died because I didn’t take reasonable precautions. Saykor and Zeke can go with you. The Children are fast, faster than any darkspawn I’ve seen. I hope you know how to use a bow or a crossbow because it’s best to take these suckers down from a distance, if they are still there.” He sighed, “I suppose it’s too much to hope we got every last one.”

 

Riordan explained with a smile, “The Commander wishes to be optimistic but he is quite realistic.” The rest of their meal was spent discussing the differences between Orlais, Ferelden and the Free Marches.

 

Later, Stroud and Riordan were watching Sigrun and Jannasilane spar. “She is very fast, the little girl, and has an unusual style. Why do most of the Wardens here wear earrings?” he was thinking of Sigrun’s earlier comment.

 

“Our little one is most unusual. You are, of course, familiar with the shrieks’ vocal capabilities,” Stroud grimaced and nodded. He always had a headache after a battle with the creatures. “She has a battle song which stuns the shrieks and other darkspawn. The earrings are enchanted to protect the Wardens fighting with her. Her voice came in quite handy during the battle in Denerim,” Riordan’s smile faded, as it always did when he thought of those days afterward when she and Alistair lay near death. “You don’t believe me? Perhaps you should join her in the ring.” He didn’t wait for a response, “Sigrun, our guest wishes to test the little one’s battle song. Would you be so kind as to change places with him? This should be quite a test for you, little one. Stroud is one of the finest swordsmen I have seen.”

 

“Go to it, Little D,” Sigrun shouted encouragement.

 

The two faced each other. As much as the young Commander made him feel small, the girl in front of him made him feel large. “Come, little girl, let us see what you are made of,” he began circling.

 

“I am not little,” she growled and sidestepped his sword. Her nostrils flared when he laughed and the battle was on. He was almost as fast as she was, if not quite as flexible. A concerted gasp sounded from the growing crowd of onlookers when his sword sliced through her armor along the shoulder seam. If she weren’t so quick and capable, it would have gone through the flesh. That is when she decided it was time to end the match and her voice rang out, stunning him long enough for her to knock him down and place her daggers at his throat. She waited for him to come to his senses, “I believe, Ser Stroud, this match goes to me.”

 

He looked up at the exotic face staring down at him, surrounded by a wild mass of hair, and agreed. “It seems your skills are not exaggerated, little girl. It has been a long time since I have been bested like this, well done.” He blinked when she grinned and removed her blade from his throat. She hopped up and held out her hand to him, “I’m not little,” she reminded him. Then she glanced at the tear in her armor, “Master Wade is going to be most upset with me. We do not have but so much dragon leather.”

 

“Allow me to speak to him. If he is to scold anyone he should scold me, since it was my blade which did the damage,” he offered gallantly.

 

Jannasilane scoffed, “Master Wade does not scold attractive men. He is much more likely to compare mustaches to see which one is finer and then be most upset at the outcome.” She shrugged good-naturedly, “I shall go take my medicine.”

 

Alistair grinned at Stroud and Riordan before joining her, “That was quite a match. I rather like seeing your bare shoulder,” he lightly caressed the skin. They teased each other all the way to the smith who, just as she predicted, began berating her.

 

“You are not placed in a typical Warden outfit, my friend,” Stroud was struggling with the notion that she called him attractive, especially since he knew otherwise. He was too serious, even dour, and his features were square and regular.

 

“Yes, but these have been unusual times and unusual circumstances. Alistair is a fine young man and a good Warden. They are unconventional but the Arling is thriving and the young Wardens under his command well-trained,” Riordan responded. He watched Nugflutter and Poorfella scrutinize Stroud. They apparently decided he passed muster, which gave him an idea.

 

Riordan left and Stroud stayed. When he wasn’t out exploring the countryside, he frequently trained the guards and Wardens in different types of swordsmanship. He was still there when Sigrun and Oghren returned from Soldier’s Peak.

 

“You like him,” Alistair commented, toying with her hair. She cuddled against him in front of the fire in the library while they enjoyed a quiet moment. Brandy, bread and cheese were near if they desired but he was happy at the moment to watch the firelight play against her hair and skin.

 

“He is a good man, a bit strait-laced. He does not show his emotions, so I am not always sure when he disapproves,” she said thoughtfully.

 

“Nice change from certain other parties,” he muttered. She snickered softly in agreement. “She doesn’t seem to sniff at me nearly as much as she used to, I don’t know if I should be worried or relieved. Riordan thinks we should ask him to stay and take his place.” He moved her so she was facing him when he felt her stiffen, “You know his time is coming soon. He says he might have a few months but not a year before he has to leave for his Calling,” he reminded her. “Oh, love,” he hugged her to him and stroked her hair and back with soothing motions, “I know how much you care for him but this is part of being a Grey Warden. It’ll happen to me one day. I’ve accepted that.”

 

Jannasilane sniffed, “When Riordan goes, it will break a piece of my heart. This is truth. I dread the reminder of what will happen to you; it hurts. This is also truth.”

 

“I love you, Janna. We have several years together before that happens and I want to make the most of every day,” he placed light kisses on her brow, her eyelids, her cheeks and finally her lips. When he finally stopped they were both trembling, “Why don’t we finish this in our room?”

 

“Yes,” she said softly. Before they left the library she looked up at him, “I love you, my Ali. Always.”

 

“Always,” he echoed. _“Even when I am gone I will always love you, Jannasilane Alenahaella.”_


	96. You are a Grey Warden

He tried to stifle the groan he felt like making.

 

“I apologize, Alistair, but we must take you to Weisshaupt to answer to the First,” a low voice said in the dark. “It doesn’t matter whether we think you’ve told us everything, you were ordered to Weisshaupt and to Weisshaupt you must go. You are a Grey Warden.” The High Constable struck a match and carefully lit the lantern.

 

“Apology . . . not accepted,” Alistair grunted and sat up. “I also have an arling to run, courtesy of Queen Anora. Now the First, whose help has been noticeably absent, has his knickers in a twist because I didn’t abandon my responsibilities as Warden-Commander and Arl when he sent his ‘invitation.’ Montsimmard was a reasonable compromise and any halfway intelligent person knows it,” he said heatedly and then snapped his mouth shut. _“I answered questions for two days. I’m not answering anymore.”_  He leaned against the wall of his cage and glared at the other man before closing his eyes. He assumed the six men who accompanied High Constable of the Grey Xavier were on guard outside. Two of them were mages; one he suspected was a blood mage. He thought of Cullen in the Circle Tower and began rebuilding his mental fortress, reciting the Litany of Adralla with each brick. He wanted to keep darkspawn _and_ mages out of his head.

 

Xavier sighed. He’d warned the First this wasn’t a good idea but First Warden Amaz had done more than ‘get his knickers in a twist.’ He’d raged at the audacity of the young Warden-Commander in refusing to come when bid. He believed it hurt him politically to be rebuffed. His one good point was that there were still serious questions about what happened on that rooftop and Alistair’s fitness to lead. Mistress Woolsey was not complimentary. “It will be some days before we are in Weisshaupt. You will stay here until then. We will bring food and water to you shortly.” He left. _“Bringing in the Hero of Ferelden as a prisoner will do wonders for the morale of our men. Humph, let the First reap what he has sown.”_

 

Once he was alone Alistair opened his eyes. He was in a cage inside a wooden box. He could see his boots and gauntlets tied to a wall outside his bars. He suspected his prison was disguised as a supply cart or something else; a prison wagon drew too much attention. He couldn’t stand but at least he could stretch his legs out in front of him and sit up straight. Bandits would have to be pretty desperate to attack seven heavily armed men, so he guessed he was reasonably safe. _“Assuming I’m not tortured or poisoned,”_ he smiled grimly. At least he still had his armor; they’d only taken his shield and weapons. He thought of Jannasilane and the tenderness with which they’d made love the night before he left. He built a wall around his love, locking her away as a secret talisman. If they sicced blood mages on him, he didn’t want them to get a whiff of her importance. He filled his mind with thoughts of Loghain, Riordan, Oghren, the Architect, the Mother and her Children.

 

He remained silent for the rest of his unwanted journey. Around the first wall, he built another, and another. Every day he checked his bars and shackles, hoping to find a weakness he could exploit. He exercised as much as he was able in the small space. He ate only what he felt was safest until Xavier was exasperated enough to ask, “Do you really think we would poison you?” Alistair raised an eyebrow and rattled his chains. After that, whoever brought him his food ate a third of it in front of him and stayed in the box with him so he would know it wasn’t poisoned.

 

More than a month after his capture the wagon stopped and Xavier untied his boots and gauntlets before unlocking the door to his prison. “We are here. Or will be after a short walk up the mountain. I am going to unlock your chains; do not make any sudden moves. Even if you got past the others outside there is nowhere for you to go.” He wasn’t surprised when Alistair made no sound. He backed out of the wagon and waited.

 

Alistair slowly removed his shackles. Behind his walls, he’d been thinking and planning. He realized that there was no way the First was going to allow him to return alive. Even if all the Wardens at Weisshaupt wanted to release him, their leader couldn’t afford for other Warden-Commanders to find out what happened. _“The bastard wants answers; he’s not going to get them. I’ll ask questions instead. The longer I can prolong our ‘discussion’ the greater chance I have to find a way out. I have one talent at my disposal; I can be really good at annoying people.”_ He knew his plans had flaws; the First might get tired of his actions and kill him without getting answers but it was the only plan he had for now. He looked at his wrists; they were suitably raw for his purpose. He pulled on his boots before gingerly putting on his gauntlets.

 

He scooted until he was sitting in the doorway and looking outside. He had to blink rapidly for several minutes to get used to the brightness of the sun reflecting off snow and ice. Slowly he stood, _“Got my balance, so far so good.”_ He took a few tentative steps; the path looked clean enough but he wasn’t taking any chances. He ignored his captors and looked around. He saw snow, ice, rocks, tall mountains and little else until he finally looked up the path. _“There it is, my final destination. At least I should be able to stand up.”_

 

Xavier stepped beside him, “Impressive, isn’t it? Whenever I return the sight of it takes my breath away.” He waited for Alistair to respond but instead the blond warrior turned his back on Weisshaupt and began doing stretches. Then squats. When Alistair began running in place the High Constable lost his temper, “Enough! I believe we have all received your message. Go.”

 

The slope was steep and the group’s mood tense. When they finally reached the top the gatekeeper had already opened the large door, “I thought it was you, High Constable. We knew you’d be here soon.” The garrulous man, a Free Marcher judging by his accent, turned his attention to the large blond warrior, “And you must be Warden-Commander Alistair; it’s an honor, sir.”

 

Alistair smiled for the first time, “That’s a pleasant greeting.” He made sure his wrists were visible to the onlookers as he casually removed his gauntlets and tucked them into his belt. “Are you this friendly to all your prisoners?” The gatekeeper opened his eyes wide and Alistair shook his head in consternation, “I’m sorry. I guess they didn’t tell you I was being brought here against my will. Yep, kidnapped me in Montsimmard after I answered their questions for days and kept me caged in a box all the way here. It might still be at the bottom of the path,” he was inwardly delighted when some of Wardens looked down the mountain. “Was I shanghaied or hijacked? I never remember the difference.”

 

“Now is not the time,” Xavier ground his teeth in frustration. He didn’t even know if he should be more annoyed at the First for not telling the truth or Alistair for deciding now was a good time to break his silence. The men he traveled with didn’t move; they didn’t know what to do. They all looked to him for directions; except for one.

 

The mage barely blinked but Alistair had one hand squeezing her throat and the other bending her arm behind her back until it was ready to break. “What? It’s not bad enough you kidnapped me,” he snarled, “but now your pet blood mage tries to pull one of her tricks? Not for the first time, either. Idiot, I’m a blasted templar!”

 

Nobody dared move. The slightest movement and the warrior could break either her arm or her neck. “What is it you want, Alistair?” Xavier asked quietly.

 

“You know what I want, but I suppose you’d rather kill us both than let me go,” Alistair looked down his nose at the High Constable. Xavier looked rather ill but nodded his head. “Well, for starters you can make sure everybody knows the truth about how I got here. Or I can just snap her neck and you can give yourself an excuse for treating me like a criminal.”

 

The two men stared at each other while the mage turned purple. Finally, Xavier nodded curtly, “Very well. You have spoken the truth. We came to Montsimmard to meet with you and ask questions about a variety of issues. You were courteous and cooperative and, I believe, honest. You refused to come back with us, citing your responsibilities in Amaranthine, but our orders were to bring you to the First regardless of your wishes. We did indeed incapacitate you and lock you up until we arrived at the mountain. Good enough?”

 

Alistair studied the High Constable; that was more of an answer than he expected. “Alright, that’ll do. Just one more thing,” he shoved the gasping mage into the hands of one of the Wardens, “Lock that up where it can’t harm anyone. It’s too undisciplined.” _“Or taking her orders from somebody else,”_ he thought quietly to himself.

 

“Yes, that is an excellent idea. Lock her in the red room and bring me the key,” he commanded. “Stop that caterwauling, you foolish woman or next time I’ll let you die.” The High Constable was used to people doing as he ordered and the young Warden-Commander was trying his composure. He believed Alistair’s claim that it wasn’t the first time he’d felt blood magic, which meant the First ordered it. Sheila didn’t have the imagination to go rogue. She was loyal to the First, however. He raised an eyebrow at Alistair, daring him to cause more trouble.

 

Alistair smirked slightly; he didn’t know if he had just helped or hurt his situation but Maker, it felt good to do _something._ “Take me to your First,” he said airily.

 

An older woman stood watching Alistair’s arrival and the commotion he caused. Thanks to somebody’s ingenuity generations before her she was also able to hear what everybody said at the gates far below her. _“Well done, young man. It doesn’t make any difference; the First wanted you here and here you are, but at least you stood up for yourself. In fact, you probably just made things harder for you,”_ sighing sadly she stepped back. If Alistair had only come on his own . . . but she knew the First well enough to know Amaz couldn’t let Alistair leave alive now.


	97. Before Montsimmard

He watched and listened but rarely spoke. He didn’t have a sparkling repartee or the patience to speak at length on trivial matters so he learned early on the best way for him to survive the Game was not to speak if he could avoid doing so. It was quite easy while he was at the Academie des Chevaliers since he could busy himself with studies and training. After his parents were murdered and he became a Grey Warden he preferred to focus on his duties rather than think about anything which would remind him of his loss. Today the sun shone on Amaranthine and he was watching the Wardens spar. “Watch the hips and shoulders, not the eyes,” he called out.

 

“Riordan and Mistress Woolsey approve of you,” Alistair leaned on the fence beside him. The Warden-Commander kept his eyes on the ring but his attention was on the older Warden next to him.

 

“I have crossed paths with Riordan many times over the years and Mistress Woolsey has spent much of her time in Orlais and the Free Marches. I daresay I am simply more familiar to her,” Stroud shrugged slightly.

 

“Maybe. I mention it because I want to propose something to you. Riordan spoke to me and I agreed with his judgment; I want you to think about staying on and replacing Riordan as our ‘Professor of Wardenology’ at Soldier’s Peak.” He sobered, “Janna doesn’t like to think of it but Riordan knows he will need to leave for his Calling in a few months and he wants his replacement ready to take over. At least stay until our younger Wardens come back from their stints with the other Grey Warden posts.”

 

Stroud nearly blinked in surprise, “I am honored that you think I am suitable on such a short acquaintance; you should know that my style is perhaps more . . . traditional than yours.”

 

“There’s a difference between traditional and hide-bound, you know,” Alistair retorted. “And, please, when it’s just us you can call me Alistair instead of this Commander stuff. Every time somebody says ‘Commander’ I want to turn around to see who they are talking to. Look, Riordan goes to Soldier’s Peak tomorrow. Why don’t you go with him and the others? Nathaniel is going to stay behind to be his assistant and you can at least see what we’re doing.”

 

“Perhaps I will consider your generous offer. I will send a letter to Commander Kevain with your young Wardens informing him that I will be extending my sojourn if he has no need of me. I admit I am curious about Soldier’s Peak,” Stroud nodded slightly. He called out once again to the fighters, “If you wish to best the little girl you _must_ watch her hips and shoulders.”

 

“You know she hates it when you call her little girl,” Alistair grinned.

 

“I am old enough to appreciate the joy of simple pleasures,” Stroud intoned without a smile. Alistair snickered.

 

That was several days ago. He was impressed with Soldier’s Peak and Riordan’s detailed training records. He wasn’t sure, when he first arrived, if he quite approved of Alistair’s unusual leadership style; but he was impressed with the amount of thought and planning the young man invested in his responsibilities. He might not agree with all his decisions but he could respect the man making them. Talking to Riordan at Soldier’s Peak gave him insight into Jannasilane as well as Alistair.

 

 The little girl was younger than he realized and very strong to have survived so much in such a short period of time. She was also an enticing, desirable woman and he sometimes watched her more than he should. Once he was more familiar with the citizens of Amaranthine he was sure he would find some uncomplicated companionship. Such arrangements worked well for him in the past and would no doubt do so again. Until then he would simply avoid her. He could understand why Mistress Woolsey disapproved of her; she seemed especially close to Anders, Nathaniel and Riordan. They stood that much closer to her than any of the others; in Orlais it would be fodder for many rumors in the Game. What he didn’t understand was Alistair’s apparent tolerance of her ‘friendships.’ He didn’t examine why something that was definitely not his business bothered him.

 

The first thing he saw when he returned to the Vigil was Jannasilane arguing with Velanna in front of Andraste’s statue. She smiled when she saw him, “Ser Stroud, welcome back. We were just discussing Andraste, sort of.”

 

“A worthy topic, little girl, sort of,” he replied gravely, delighted when she scowled. He never thought he would enjoy teasing anyone as much as he enjoyed teasing her.

 

“I am not little,” she sniffed. “And my hair is not wild,” she looked sideways at the elf.

 

Velanna rolled her eyes, “Uh-huh. What do you think, Stroud?” she demanded.

 

Stroud bowed, “I think that I shall return to my room, wash off this travel dust, and find the Commander.” He hadn’t survived as a Grey Warden this long by getting between two bickering women. Just because it wasn’t heated now didn’t mean it wouldn’t become so. And Stroud was a smart man. Nugflutter looked at him as if he thought that was a good idea but he was too loyal to his mistress to leave.

 

His room was beginning to feel like home, not just a place to stay. It was clean and smelled nice, but somebody had taken the trouble to brighten it up with a vase of flowers and a handful of knick-knacks. They also provided pen and paper, and a couple of interesting books from the library. He promised himself he would delve into them later. He found his way to Arl Warden-Commander’s office, _“an apt title,”_ and knocked lightly on the open door. Alistair and Mistress Woolsey were discussing the Warden’s treasury.

 

“ . . . perhaps it is due to your efforts on behalf of the city of Amaranthine but I am pleased to report that all the nobles are current with their tithes to the Grey Wardens and to the Arl. You should, even without the work your Wardens are doing, have a comfortable margin for your plans. And, Commander, I know we disagree on many things but I do think your Warden exchange is a good idea. It should benefit all parties. Since Ser Stroud came here to learn about the Children perhaps it would be a courtesy to send detailed reports and drawings to the other Commanders with the new Wardens,” Woolsey stood to leave.

 

Alistair blinked, “Thank you Mistress Woolsey, that is an excellent suggestion. It _is_ nice not feeling my purse strings pinching.” He looked at the older Warden standing in the doorway, “Welcome, I assume you had a safe trip back, have a seat.”

 

“Commander, Mistress Woolsey,” he nodded to each of them. Stroud courteously waited until the Warden’s treasurer left the office to go about her business before sitting down. “Soldier’s Peak is an interesting fortress. I met Avernus,” he added. “He is a rather disturbing old man. I do not wish to know how he has managed to live for so long.”

 

“I prefer not to think about it myself,” Alistair replied mildly. “When we first arrived . . . well, it was an experience.”

 

“So I understand. Commander, I am impressed with the training program you and Riordan started and I have much to consider. I will have an answer for you when you return from Montsimmard. And I will assist in any way I can during your exchange program.”

 

The warrior behind the desk grinned, “Excellent. All three Warden-Commanders agreed to the exchange, you may have gathered that already; Commander Kevain said he wouldn’t even count you as one of the exchanges. Apparently your last recruiting round was so successful he doesn’t anticipate needing you for some months. Commander Clarel said she would be most happy to act as host but I’m still waiting for the First to reply. I’ve never been out of Ferelden, unless you count Orzammar and the Deep Roads, which I don’t, so part of me hopes he agrees to the compromise instead of coming to Amaranthine,” Alistair said with boyish enthusiasm. “Have you been to that part of Orlais? Where is the Academie located? I could use something to eat,” he got up and the two men walked to the dining room.

 

The First agreed to Alistair’s compromise. Alistair winced a little at the obvious stiffness in his reply but wasn’t surprised. He hoped his gifts would ease his reception. While waiting, he and Jannasilane made another trip to the Dragonbone Wastes and picked up some bones. Master Wade made two sets of beautiful daggers. The smaller, more delicate set was a thank you to Commander Clarel for hosting the meeting. The silverite grips were engraved with a feather pattern and inlaid with runes helpful to any mage. Anders kept eying them covetously. The larger set was destined for First Warden Amaz. The daggers were strong and elegant with graceful hilts made from the remnants of the golem shell. Alistair also had a cloak, similar to his, made out of richer fabrics with more fur.

 

“Well, we’re off to see the First, or I am, anyway,” Alistair smiled at the group in the courtyard. Seneschal Varel and Ser Stroud flanked Jannasilane and in turn were loosely surrounded by the remaining Wardens, Captain Garevel and the Cousins. “First stop, Amaranthine for horses and the boat to Ansburg. Nathaniel should be here soon.” He held Janna’s chin in his hand and traced her lips with his thumb, they’d said their farewells the night before and into the morning, “Good-bye, my love. Don’t fight any dragons while I’m gone.” He looked at the men behind her, “Take care of my Janna.”

 

“You take care of my Ali,” she replied softly. “I will be most put out if something happens, this is truth.” When Alistair left she went up to the top of ‘her’ tower so she could watch them for as long as possible.

 

Stroud found her still there some hours later. “Little girl, you should come inside and get something to eat,” he looked around at her little aerie. She was the only one to come up here and she had furnished it with a small weather-proofed chest, table and chair, and a few blankets. Since it was only accessible from the family quarters and not necessary as a guard tower few people even knew she had claimed it as hers.

 

Jannasilane looked around and smiled at him, “You must think me foolish; already I miss him. This will be the first time we’ve been separated for more than a few days. I suppose it sounds silly to you, it's only a few weeks, not months.”

 

“Not at all,” he replied politely. “I wish to speak with you a moment, privately, before we go inside. Mistress Woolsey approached me; she does not think it wise for no one to be in charge before Nathaniel arrives. I am afraid she does not consider the seneschal qualified to provide sufficient leadership over the Grey Wardens in the unlikely event something should happen. She suggested I act as interim Commander until young Howe’s arrival.”

 

She rolled her eyes and then shrugged her shoulders, “I see no harm. If you won’t feel over-burdened with responsibility for a day or two,” she added mischievously.

 

“I shall endeavor to bear this great weight without fuss,” he intoned solemnly. She snorted and they descended to the main hall. Behind her back he frowned slightly; he didn’t like how easily he responded to her and resolved to be more careful.

 

Nathaniel didn’t arrive but letters did. All but one was from Alistair. _“My love, I hope Terry and Harami prove to be better sailors than Stroud because the captain said the seas were a little rough. Anyway, when we arrived at Highever Fergus greeted us with a big smile and offered us a carriage for the rest of our travels. He seems delighted to show Ser Mhairi everything there is to see in Highever. You know, I think I even saw her blush. Fergus sends his love, as do I. I think of you every day and every night, it already seems too long since I’ve seen your beautiful eyes. Always, Alistair.”_

_“ . . . King Harrowmont sufficiently honored the casteless of Kal’Hirol when the Shaper added their names to the warrior caste. He looked a little bit like he was sucking on a lemon but he didn’t stint on the ceremony, I’ll give him that. Zeke was the most awed by Orzammar. I think he liked wandering the merchant stalls and the Shaperate best._

_Warden-Commander Nalia is an interesting woman, no-nonsense but with plenty of imagination. I think you’d like her. She’s quite pleased that we’re using her methods in our training program and tickled at Riordan’s title, ‘Professor of Wardenology.’ I suspect he’ll be hearing from her soon. The two Wardens she sent us may have already arrived by the time you receive this letter. Tell Mistress Woolsey, and don’t roll your eyes at me, that her suggestion about the Children reports was a good one. Nalia and her top advisers are looking at them while I write to you from my lonely bedroom. Some of the younger Wardens are showing Samuel and Gabriel the local entertainment. I’d like to return here with you some day. Always, your Ali.”_

_“Jannalove, I can’t wait to get back to Amaranthine and you. It’s been too long. Master Wade’s skill made a big impression on Commander Clarel. Don’t be surprised if she tries to tempt him to come to Orlais. Both Commanders answered my questions at length. If either of them thought I am too young or inexperienced they were polite enough not to show it. I’ve learned a few things about making a difficult job easier, or smoother. Some of the things they do won’t work as well for us. Partly because we’re Fereldan and partly because of the whole Arl thing. Clarel deals with nobles more often than Nalia does and she explained some of the ways she deals with them. I might have to try one or two._

_First Warden Amaz did not come; instead he sent a small retinue headed by High Constable Xavier. He seems reserved; I can’t tell if he’s upset about leaving the Anders or glad to get away. At least he doesn’t treat me like an idiot or an obnoxious child. Tomorrow we’ll begin the big question and answer session. Picture me sighing with resignation. I love you. Always, your lonely warrior.”_

 

The exception was a letter from Howe to Stroud, _“Ser Stroud, Mistress Woolsey let me know she suggested you act as interim Commander until I arrive. I am asking you to continue to do so for a while longer. Riordan is declining rapidly and it won’t be long before he leaves for his Calling. He wishes to finish as much of his work as possible to make things easier for Alistair; I have not told him the Warden-Commander already left for Montsimmard. I think my time, with you in charge at Amaranthine, can be better spent assisting him. If this does not suit, then I shall return as originally planned. Nathaniel Howe, Grey Warden of Ferelden.”_ Stroud found her in the garden she was creating and showed it her, “It appears, little girl, that you must suffer my leadership for a while longer. I will not deprive Riordan of his wish. I am sorry.”

 

“My poor Rio,” she answered sadly, “he did not expect the end to come so swiftly. I shall miss him terribly, this is truth.” She looked around at the dirt she’d been preparing, but she didn’t really see it. “He has been a very good friend and helped me during a difficult period. I know my Ali values his advice.” She smiled a little, “He told me many stories of the father I never knew, Duncan. Did you know him?”

 

Stroud wished he had, if only to lessen the sorrow in those expressive eyes, “No, little girl, I did not have that honor. I know only that he commanded great respect. I believe, however, the former Commander of the Grey of Fereldan would approve of what the current one has done.” He gestured to the land in front of her, “What, exactly are you doing here?” He hoped changing the subject would, if not ease her pain at least distract her from it. He told himself he would do as much for anybody.

 

“I believe there used to be a garden here. With a little effort we can have one again,” she explained. When she smiled at him her smile was tinged with mirth, “If you like I can give you all the details why I believe this is so.”

 

 “I am sure that would be most interesting,” he began politely, “but I fear I have other duties to which I must attend. Two more Grey Wardens have unexpectedly arrived from Cumberland. I shall leave you to your garden, little girl.” He bowed and retreated quickly now that his duty was done.


	98. Say My Name

Oh, how she missed him. Alistair should have returned over two weeks ago and she feared her suspicions were correct. That Woolsey woman was involved, she was sure of it. She scratched her arms and trembled in the cool night air blowing in through the Warden-Commander's window. Maybe it was a mistake to be wearing his shirt, soft from dozens of washings, but she wanted to wear something that smelled of him, though the fragrance might be just her imagination at this point.  _"It has been so long without him, I do not know how much more I can endure. Anders has not returned and Nathaniel is still at Soldier's Peak. I am sure their continued absence is because of Woolsey. It is getting hard to think and plan, I_ _ **need**_ _. . . the presence of all these Wardens is almost painful. Who can I trust? I don't dare approach the ones on exchange. Does she know something? Or is she simply making sure I do not conspire with anyone? If I do not get some relief soon I will go mad. Even Oghren is beginning to be desirable but he has not a discreet bone in his body. I do not wish to bring shame to my Ali. Maybe I should leave, but if I leave I will not be able to return and I need to find out more."_  She was so intent on her own whirling thoughts she did not hear the office door open, close and lock behind her as the interim Commander entered.

He entered quietly, surprised to see her. He liked Alistair and was ready to transfer and take on a new challenge. The young man handled his duties with humor and a keen regard for others. Rarely had Stroud encountered such a strong sense of responsibility or desire to protect those under his care. Alistair was a man worthy of respect but she . . . well, he had too many doubts about her character. He considered his desire for Alistair's 'little girl' an unfortunate lapse of judgment and was determined to avoid her until he made other arrangements. But Fate seemed to have other ideas. Here she was, in his office (even if it was temporary) at night wearing almost nothing. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, she'd been acting strangely for the past few days though he might be the only one who noticed. He quietly strode towards her, "What are you doing here?"

Jannasilane whirled around, startled. Inwardly she cursed the fact that the clamoring beast among so many Wardens skewed her Warden-sense and so she had not realized he was in the room. He came closer, his face stern and unsmiling, and her eyes widened, "I, I c-c-couldn't sleep." She hoped he couldn't see her blush in the dark or that her nipples were pointed with desire.

"Really," he said skeptically. He thought to intimidate her into leaving so he moved even closer until her breasts were brushing against him. She couldn't even distract herself with the pain of his usual leathers since he was attired simply in light linen pants and shirt. Anger fueled his unwanted attraction for her and burned in his blood when she didn't move, "Perhaps, little girl, you were hoping to see me," he traced her cheekbone and lips with the fingers of one hand and with the other carelessly caressed the side of her breast, moving his hand down until it was resting lightly but firmly on her rear, kneading it, stroking it. "Or perhaps you were spying." Jannasilane shook her head in denial but she trembled at his touch, even unconsciously leaning into it. The Beast demanded it, this man, right now. "Liar," his voice was gruff and harsh with his own rising need and loss of control. He grabbed her hair and bit her lower lip at the same time he smacked her bottom sharply, causing her to jump.

His hand found the hem of her shirt and reached under it, seeking tender flesh. He was surprised when he found out she wasn't even wearing smalls. That was enough to break his restraints. She shivered when he caressed the twin globes of her warmed rear. "Naughty girl," he whispered in her ear, "Do you know what happens to naughty girls?" He backed into the desk chair and sat down, still holding onto her. Without warning he pulled her down so she was over his knees. She struggled and he smacked her again, "Be still, naughty one," he commanded. He pulled up her shirt, spanked her once and was able to see the imprint of his hand on her well-rounded cheeks. She squirmed and he spanked her again and this time he didn't stop. He punished her for his desire as well hers. He slapped her left cheek then her right and back again. Sometimes quick rat-a-tats and sometimes more deliberate smacks.

When he began fingering her with his other hand Jannasilane gasped. He cleverly tweaked and stroked her until she was wet and panting. He didn't stop spanking her even when he slipped his fingers into her, fondling the inside of her passage while she clenched around his fingers. Jannasilane was mortified that she, not just the Beast, responded to his actions. She could feel his erection through his trousers and craved it, and loathed herself for doing so. She cried out in frustration when he abruptly pushed her from him and onto her feet. She swayed, bereft, and didn't protest when he tore her shirt from her, leaving her naked to his gaze. She never wanted to see that shirt again.

Hungrily he attacked her breasts with tongue and teeth. He suckled, hard, and followed up with gentle kisses. He wanted to leave his mark. He felt primitive satisfaction when she wrapped her arms around him, stroking him and hugging him against her. He picked her up and, with her still in his arms, swept the desk clear and laid her on it as if she was his to display. The cool surface was a welcome relief to her hot rear but he did not give her much time to enjoy it before his mouth was on hers. Greedily he opened her lips with his tongue and took command of the dance. His hands roughly and skillfully caressed her breasts, her sides, her legs. He trailed hard kisses down her neck, her breasts and torso. He circled her bellybutton with his tongue and sucked, causing her to buck against him. He threw her legs over his shoulders and grabbed her tender rear. She cried out when his silky mustache brushed the inside of her thighs as he teased her with his nimble tongue.

Jannasilane didn't care that she was naked and completely vulnerable to his touch even as he remained fully clothed. All she cared about was that he not stop until the needs, hers and the Beast's, were satisfied. She moaned as he feasted. She was near release when he stopped and effortlessly flipped her over. "P-please," she heard herself beg as he lightly stroked her back. The delicate touch of his fingers caressing her sensitized rear was exquisite and she squirmed.

Just the sight of her trembling for his touch was nearly enough to send him to the brink but he resisted the urge to plunge into her. That her legs dangled above the floor and she pushed herself against the finger, slicked with her own juices, he had slowly inserted into her rear provided him with a perverse pleasure. He was glad to see that, though the spanking had thoroughly heated her luscious bottom it was only reddened and not bruised. He'd been a bit worried that he might have gotten carried away. He scritched his fingernails across her quivering globes and inserted another finger. He continued thrusting his fingers in and out while he undid the laces of his pants with his other hand. Her begging was the sweetest music he'd ever heard. "I want to hear you call my name," he hooked his fingers slightly and smiled when she gasped.

"S-s-st-stroud," she finally called out only to be rewarded with a hard slap instead of what she craved.

"My other name," he said fiercely and smacked her bottom again.

She squirmed and trembled under his ministrations. She didn't know if she wanted more or if she wanted him to stop; she only knew she was ready to go mad. She fought to think. "I d-don't know it," she cried out in frustration and tried to turn over.

Stroud stopped her. "Bring your arms under your shoulders and rise." She didn't even think until she did as he bade. She scowled even as she moaned when she felt his hands on her breasts. He fondled them, he squeezed them, and he caressed them. "You do know," he pinched her nipples firmly, "Think to when I first came here."

The linen of his shirt and trousers felt rough against her rear but was also oddly arousing. She was pleased that his breathing was as harsh as her own. She tried to think as he rubbed against her and continued playing with her breasts. Jannasilane resented that her body replied so readily to his own and hoped it was due to the Beast. He bit into the side of her neck and growled. She had a sudden flash of their first meeting; Stroud was with Riordan and she remembered thinking how gruff and aloof he seemed when being introduced. "J-jean!" she cried triumphantly.

He nuzzled her hair and kissed her neck where he bit her. He eased himself out of his trousers and laid the length of his manhood in the cleft of her rear. She tried to snuggle against him. "You are so close, little girl," he whispered. He slid his erection against her and lifted her hips so he could reach her nub. He stroked, enjoying her trembling for his touch, but did not insert even a fingertip into her while he waited. He stepped back, pulling her with him so she had no leverage and was totally at his mercy once again. "Try harder," and pushed against her.

"Aargh! Jean . . . Stroud . . . please, I can't think," Jannasilane was forced to admit. His answer was to spank her, an odd sensation with him still nestled between her cheeks. Then he returned his attentions to her nub. He pulled her to the brink repeatedly until she felt like screaming but still he refused to give her what they both wanted. Tears were streaming down her cheeks before she remembered the rest, "Jean-Marc!"

"Yes!" he buried himself deep inside her. "My name is Jean-Marc Stroud," he cried hoarsely as he slammed into her again and again. She quickly found her release after being so close for so long. She found it again when he began pouring his seed into her. She clenched around him as he pumped himself dry; even then he continued slowly thrusting as they began to calm after the storm. "Good girl," he said, as if to a dog, and pulled away. He patted her rear approvingly before picking up the torn shirt, cleaning himself, then tucking his manhood away. He dropped the shirt next to her on the desk and stepped back.

He watched her with his arms crossed as she took care of herself. He smiled with smug satisfaction when she wavered before standing straight. Jannasilane glared at him, "Do not patronize me,  _Jean-Marc._ " It was a bit hard to stand tall with pride when she was naked and he was fully dressed.

Stroud smirked angrily and moved closer to her. "Little girl, I had you begging on this desk and over my knee. If I wanted I could have you again right now. You're as eager for my touch as a cheap whore for a pouch of coin," he ran his hands down the sides of her breasts to prove his point and smiled when her nipples responded to his touch. He lightly rubbed his hands over her rear and held her against him so he could feel her racing heart before easing his hand between them and fondling her. When he slipped his fingers inside her he felt her thrust against him and only then stepped away, angry and pleased at her response. "Or would any man do?" He flicked her tight nipple contemptuously. He was mad at her for giving in; mad at himself for arguing with her and desiring another man's woman, especially one who so easily came into his arms. He was angry that even now he wanted to take her to bed and make her beg for the rest of the night. And the next and the next after that.

Jannasilane slapped him, anger and self-disgust gave her arm plenty of force. She hated herself for wanting him, or rather that the Beast wanted him. She spoke quietly in the silence that followed, "Maybe I was lonely. Maybe I was weak, that does not give you the right to, to . . ." She gave up and turned away. She didn't think he'd believe her even if she trusted him enough to explain. To be fair she could hardly blame him for thinking badly of her. She was ashamed of her own reactions. She flushed as she recalled how she had indeed begged him, Maker help her, and would do so again if he crooked his finger. "Whatever you think of me I would prefer that others not know of my shame, my failure."

"Our failure. My apologies, my  _lady_." He gritted his teeth and watched her go through a door that led directly to the Warden-Commander's bedroom. He realized he still didn't know why she was in the study and followed her in time to see her throw the shirt she'd been wearing into the fire. He frowned then, realizing how upset she was over what happened between them. He waited until she pulled on a robe and wrapped it around her before he spoke, "You never answered my question."

She started and stared at him. He was beginning to think she wasn't going to answer when she spoke so quietly he had to strain to hear. "It is truth that I couldn't sleep. I worry that he won't r-return. For many nights I have found sleep to be difficult. I miss my Ali; I thought maybe I would feel less lonely if I spent some time in his office. It did not work. Instead I felt worse." She could admit to feeling lonely, even if that was not the entire truth. She certainly wasn't going to tell him that the Beast was still riding her, that her body craved his touch even if it meant further contempt. Maybe that was part of the attraction.

Stroud damned himself for what he was about to suggest. Until tonight he had always thought he was an honorable man and now . . . He took her arm and led her through another door, into the room used by special guests such as the king and closed the door behind them. What he was going to say he was not going to say in the Warden-Commander's own bedroom. A man had to have some pride. "I am used to long stretches without any intimacy but I have wanted you since the day of our first meeting," he grimaced at the look of surprise on her face. "I tried to sate my unfortunate desire with some of your Amaranthine whores but was not completely successful. Even now I want you. I want to take you in every way possible to take a woman. I want my marks on your skin. I want you begging and screaming for my touch." His breathing was ragged now but he was determined to finish, "I have great respect for Warden-Commander Alistair and have no wish to dishonor him but we have already crossed that line. Until we get word of his return perhaps we can burn out this unfortunate fire between us. Discreetly, of course."

Jannasilane knew she was bright red. She couldn't look him in the eyes and stared at his chest. She stumbled over her words, "Are, are y-you s-s-saying I . . . th-that I b-b-bec-c-come your s-secret m-m-mistress?" She was mortified that her voice squeaked on the last words.

Now that the words were out Stroud relaxed. He might be damned but he no longer felt so angry, "Yes. It should not be difficult. We currently have little contact with each other during the day; there is no reason for this to change. Outside of this room I am Stroud. At night I will come to you here, where I wish to find you naked and willing. In here I am not Stroud, I am Jean-Marc. Well?" he demanded.

" _Maker help me and my Ali if I am wrong,"_  she thought before speaking. "And no one else will know?" She waited for him to reply in the affirmative. "Before I agree there is something you must know. I love my Ali with all my heart. But this loneliness I feel is tearing me apart, driving me mad. Anders is gone; Nathaniel is still at Soldier's Peak with my Rio; Seneschal Varel always seems to be busy elsewhere when I wish to speak with him; even Sigrun and Oghren are constantly on patrols. I hardly know these older Wardens."

Stroud frowned as he realized the extent of her isolation. Not only was the Warden-Commander gone but her closest friends and possible confidantes were glaringly absent as well. He thought about her fear that Alistair might not return. "You think there is a conspiracy?" he asked with some disbelief.

"I fear my Ali is unaware that there is no plan for him to return. Perhaps I am not thinking clearly and am turning a string of coincidences into a plot against him but this I doubt."

"What if you are correct?" he watched her closely for her answer. He was disturbed at the possibility that the First, for who else would be behind such a scheme, would basically take prisoner any Warden-Commander much less one who killed the Archdemon. That was not a precedent he wished to see. The Order could potentially descend into chaos.

"Then I will rescue him even if it means my life."

Stroud believed this. Whatever her failings he believed she would do just that. It hurt, but also made him want her even more, knowing it would only be temporary. "Very well, though I suggest we do not talk of your concerns outside this room. I will keep you informed of anything which appears to argue either for or against your theory even if you do not agree to continue this connection. Mistress Woolsey has hinted that perhaps I should take over the Warden-Commander's quarters until his return, for my convenience. I shall allow her to convince me, in part, to do this. I shall insist that I will maintain my current quarters as well and that you be minimally inconvenienced by a move to the guestroom, if you agree."

He watched her as carefully as she did him. "We will need to be careful. The Woolsey has rarely approved of Ali and never liked me. She sniffs whenever she sees me," Jannasilane scowled. She took a deep breath; it was time to make a decision,  _"One man I respect is better than any or many, even if he hates me."_  Her gaze was fixed to the floor when she stood and removed her robe, "you said naked and willing," she muttered as she heard a distant roar in her head.

He tilted her head so she was forced to look at him, "Indeed I did." His hands skimmed her body with caresses light as the wings of a butterfly. He seduced her with gentleness where before he dominated with ruthlessness. He breathed soft kisses down her throat, her breasts. He knelt to kiss her torso and ended at her mound. He nuzzled, requesting access. She shifted her feet and gave it, clutching his shoulders when she felt his tongue delicately tracing a path to her core. He stood and she caught a quick grin when she stumbled. He dropped his hands to his sides, "Undress me," he commanded hoarsely.

Jannasilane looked at him, understanding he was testing her full cooperation. She hesitated briefly and then ran her hands up his chest, her touch scorching him through the linen. She eased his shirt from the waist of his trousers and caressed the skin underneath. He hissed when her fingers circled then tweaked his nipples. She slowly moved his shirt up and kissed the firm muscles she uncovered. His frame was stocky but strong. He allowed her to raise his arms so she could begin to remove his shirt. She teased him by trapping his head and arms so she could move around him, her tongue tracing intricate patterns and her breasts constantly brushing against him. He could feel the firm peaks of her nipples and groaned. She taunted him when she loosened his trousers and stroked his manhood. She didn't stop until he was hard as stone and nearly bulging out of his pants. Only then did she return her attention to his shirt and carefully remove it. He watched her hungrily as she straightened it out and laid it over a chair. She sauntered to him and slid her fingers through his chest hair, up his neck and tangled them in his hair, bringing his head down so she could reach his lips. She tasted herself on his tongue and moaned, pressing herself against him.

Stroud brought his arms down then and held her. He felt different from her Alistair, he had more and curlier chest hair, she noticed as he held her close. He grabbed her rear and pushed her against him while their tongues mated. She rained kisses on his chest while her hands insinuated themselves under his waistband. Her tongue delved into his navel while she carefully moved his erection so she could pull down his trousers. Just as with his shirt she took the time to straighten them and place them in the chair. This time when she returned she knelt in front of him. He enjoyed the feel of her nimble hands exploring and caressing the length and muscles of his legs. When she cupped him and started licking him with little flicks of her tongue he shuddered. He braced himself when she took hold of his ass and began squeezing. At the same time she surrounded the tip of his member with soft lips. Ever so slowly she took him in further; the excruciating pace nearly had him begging for mercy.

"Enough," he growled. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him. She nuzzled his earlobe with her teeth. He grasped her rear and positioned her. He teased her. He turned so her back was against the wall and pushed into her. He held still while she tried to bring him in further. Slowly he pulled almost all the way out and then rammed back in. He picked up the pace and she met him thrust for thrust. She scratched his back when he tongued her ear and began sucking the lobe in rhythm to his movements. They raced to bring the other over until they both found release. He sagged against the wall, pinning her and gripping her bottom tight enough to leave bruises.

When their hearts stopped racing and their breathing was more regular Stroud eased her down until she could stand. He retrieved her robe and gently placed it on her, "Here you go, little girl." He dressed before escorting her back to her room. They looked to see that all was in order before closing the door. "I shall 'fall asleep in my office' which should account for any mess should any think to ask. Lock the door behind me." He turned and cupped her face, "Until tonight, little girl."

Jannasilane stared at the closed door before locking it with trembling fingers. She raced to lock the other two and then threw herself onto the bed. She buried her face in the pillows so no one could hear the sobs tearing at her, especially the man who just left. She didn't know which of them despised her more.  _"Forgive me, my Ali. Morrigan was right; I am the Wardens' whore."_


	99. Ill Tidings

~Soldier’s Peak~

Saykor stumbled up the path to Soldier’s Peak. He thought informing Riordan and Nathaniel was a bit like telling Oghren about Branka, _“Only this time we might be able to do something.”_ He trudged up the steps and entered the Peak. Riordan and Nathaniel were sitting at one end of the large table with papers spread between them. Saykor studied the senior Warden closely, “You look healthy enough,” he grunted.

 

Riordan cocked his head and lifted one eyebrow, “I am, thank you. You, however, look tired. What is the news from the Vigil that you had to come yourself?” He gestured for Saykor to sit and eat.

 

“According to Nathaniel you should be near insane if not dead from your Calling,” he answered gruffly and bit into the warm bread. “It’s why he didn’t return to Amaranthine and asked Stroud to continue as interim Commander.”

 

Nathaniel blinked, “I assure you, sir dwarf, I said no such thing.”

 

“Clearly something is amiss. We received a nearly illegible note from Alistair saying he still hadn’t heard from the First and suggested that Nathaniel remain here until he had a more definite timetable. He apologized for his lousy handwriting but he suffered an injury to his arm during sparring practice. The words themselves were not out of character,” Riordan frowned. “It seemed odd that we heard no further, but I concluded that the First Warden was not happy with Alistair and making difficulties.”

 

Saykor shook his head, “Nope, he left on schedule. There’s more, Anders was ambushed.”

 

“What?” Riordan and Nathaniel exclaimed in unison.

 

Saykor stopped eating and took a long drink of ale. He shook his head, “The Not-nows and the exchange Wardens were split into groups and sent to different parts of Ferelden. These Cumberland Wardens, they showed up a few days ago, said they were interested in the Architect and the Children; they asked if Anders could show them the Architect’s lab and then Kal’Hirol. Stroud hesitated but he didn’t see any reason not to grant them their request. I guess it seemed reasonable enough,” he admitted grudgingly. “He may even have thought it would be good for Anders; he told him he couldn’t take his cat with him on patrol anymore. That cat, I swear it has it in for Stroud. Or did, I think Ser Pounce-a-lot is with your sister Delilah.”

 

“Anyways, Velanna and I agreed something wasn’t right so we followed them at a distance. I wish we’d been closer but the stone is settled now. I don’t know who the templars were, but they were waiting in a clearing. The Cumberlands left after handing him over. That mage put up a pretty powerful fight, Justice with him; I thought he was going to die for sure when there was . . . it was like a blue explosion. Justice fell and Anders destroyed all the others before he collapsed. He must not have been down long because when we got there he was gone. Only dead bodies remained. We decided I would come here and Velanna would watch the Vigil.” He told them everything he knew leading up to the ambush.

 

They debated their options the rest of the night. If they acted precipitously then the Arling, so recently victimized by darkspawn and Bann Esmerelle’s treachery, might descend again into chaos and all the ground Alistair gained would be lost. It seemed that whatever machinations were in play were against Alistair specifically and not against the Wardens.

 

“I think,” Riordan began, “this is perhaps not a conspiracy against Alistair but an act against an insubordinate Commander. Let us examine the chain of events, the First Warden orders Alistair to Weisshaupt, an order which was refused. No matter the reasoning, I doubt the First was happy.”

 

“No action was taken against Alistair in Ferelden, nor was it taken openly. Her Majesty gave the arling to the Wardens, not Alistair specifically. As long as there is an acting Commander to handle the dual responsibilities of the position then technically all is well. To me it seems clear that the goal is not to destabilize the Arling, which would give the crown a reason to take it away from the Wardens.”

 

“Mistress Woolsey must be in communication with the First. He sent her, after all,” Nathaniel remarked shrewdly.

 

“Yes, I have no doubt she has been his eyes and ears all along. She clearly disapproved of many of his decisions and so her reports surely have influenced First Warden Amaz. He may even feel removing Alistair is better for the Grey Wardens as a whole than keeping him in a leadership position. He has served his purpose,” Riordan shrugged and frowned. “For the sake of discussion let us say she has been given latitude to ‘clean up Alistair’s mess.’ I think it reasonable to assume the Cumberlands are her choice, her doing.”

 

“She never approved of Anders, either. I heard her more than once complain to the Commander he shouldn’t antagonize the templars; that he should turn the mage over to them. Every now and then, a group of them sniffs around, looking for signs that he’s ‘gone rogue.’ Nughumpers get real peeved when Alistair reminds them they have no jurisdiction and if they have nothing better to do to clear off and stay out of the way. He’s more polite, of course,” Saykor added.

 

“I shall go to Amaranthine.”

 

“But they think you’re half insane,” Saykor and Nathaniel protested.

 

“Yes, and they may not be convinced otherwise but of the three of us I know Stroud best. He is a good man with no liking for political manipulations. I doubt he is complicit in what is happening and perhaps he can help us,” Riordan frowned.

 

“I could go, after all it wouldn’t be odd for me to show up,” Nathaniel argued.

 

“You need to go to Highever and speak to Fergus Cousland,” Riordan shook his head. “I know it will not be easy but the only other people we can approach are Zevran and their Majesties. This would not go unnoticed. A trip to Highever, however . . .”

 

“And what about me? I could go to Highever,” the dwarf closely resembled his truculent cousin at that moment.

 

Riordan shook his head, “Nathaniel knows the way and can get there faster. You, my friend, need to be ready to go to Denerim and report to His Majesty all you have told us, just in case. Blake will be very angry if we do not tell him but I want more information before we go to the king of Ferelden. Think carefully about the last few weeks. Where did Woolsey and the Cumberlands go? Who did they talk to? Is there anything you observed which you ignored at the time but might have a different meaning with what we know now?”

 

Saykor sighed, “Very well. Sod it all. I know they’re friends, but will the king actually do anything? Politics and action aren’t always partners.”

 

It was the senior Warden’s turn to sigh, “Blake considers Alistair his brother as well as his friend. He is a very clever young man and will do everything in his power to get Alistair back to Ferelden. More than that, I cannot say.”

 

~Highever~

If he weren’t so worried about Alistair he would be dragging his footsteps. He was even tempted to turn around. He wasn’t proud of that fact but he wasn’t going to deny it either. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could find Ser Mhairi and not have to face Fergus at all. _“No, I have to speak to him. He is a Teyrn and has access to people that nobody can question.”_ He did want to speak to her first, anyway, so he went to the village only to be told she was up at the castle. He kept his hood up but some of the townspeople eyed him suspiciously.

 

When he reached the grove Fergus planted he stopped. He looked around at all the trees, _“If I remember correctly Mouse said there was one cherry laurel for every three people who died; one bay laurel for each family member and friend,”_ he shook his head in sorrow, “and one plum tree for Connor.” He fingered the leaves on the young sapling, “Plums were his favorite fruit. Oh Father, how could you do this? When did you turn into a monster?”

 

“Nathaniel?” Ser Mhairi asked in surprise. “Why did _you_ come _here_?” Mhairi could feel the grief pouring off of him and hoped Fergus, _“I must remember to all him Teyrn or my lord,”_ wouldn’t kill him on sight. She frowned when she heard there was trouble, “Follow me to the castle but keep your hood down. It won’t help if Lord Cousland thinks we’re trying to trick him into letting you inside.”

 

“Very well, I put myself in your hands,” Nathaniel agreed, “For all our sakes I hope you’re right.”

 

Fergus smiled when he heard Mhairi’s voice, “Mhairi, I didn’t expect you to return this evening, perhaps,” he turned around and all good humor fell away from him. Anger and hate quickly replaced surprise and hurt, hardening his face more than Nathaniel thought possible. Pain kept him rooted when Fergus rushed forward to attack.

 

Bravely, Mhairi positioned herself to defend Nathaniel, “Lord Cousland, please, don’t.” She might as well have slapped him, based on the look he gave her.

 

The Warden moved Mhairi aside, he wasn’t going to hide from the man or let another shield him, “Teyrn Cousland, I am not here to add to your grief. I can only tell you how incredibly sorry I am for your loss and if the situation wasn’t urgent . . . Let me explain and then I won’t stop you from killing me, if it will make you feel any better.” Nathaniel hoped his old friend would listen to reason, but in his place he wasn’t sure that he would.

 

“Wait for me in the study. I assume you remember the way,” Fergus spoke through teeth gritted so tight it was a small wonder his jaw didn’t shatter from the tension. His gaze burned Mhairi with accusations of betrayal before he stalked off.

 

Nathaniel flinched. Quietly he and the knight walked through the halls to the study. He could hear servants whispering but didn’t turn his head, afraid to see who was gone and replaced. “I see Mouse rearranged a few things,” he indicated the furniture casually grouped in front of the library fire, just like the Vigil. The sight heartened him a little, made him glad Fergus didn’t try to put it back exactly as it used to be. Inside the study he went straight to the portrait on the wall and stared at the faces of the Cousland family, _“Is it my imagination based on memories or the artist’s skill that I see the closeness, pride and love between them? Fergus’ quick smile, Blake’s deviltry, Elissa’s sweetness and strength, Bryce and Eleanor’s confidence tinged with humor and compassion . . . there’s no fear in this portrait.”_

 

Seeing Nathaniel again brought back all his pain. His head pounded from it. His hands shook with anger as he poured himself a large brandy. He gulped it down, hoping it would at least dull the agony he felt and keep him from killing his former friend. Or keep him from killing Nathaniel before he heard what the man had to say. He’d think about Mhairi later. He threw the empty glass into the fire, rolled his neck to ease his tension, and then walked to the study bearing the semblance of calm. Nate and Mhairi were talking.

 

“ . . . I remember one time we put frogs down the back of Delilah’s dress. I was confined to my room for a month. Father was livid, I don’t think I sat down for a week,” Nathaniel was smiling at the memory.

 

_“I remember that, it didn’t help that Blake infested her room with them. She’d open a drawer and out popped a frog. Elissa scolded us and then refused to talk to us for days for the injury done to her friend,”_ Fergus recalled. He didn’t go in just yet.

 

Mhairi saw him but didn’t tell Nathaniel, who was still looking at the portrait, “That seems a rather harsh punishment for a boyish prank.”

 

Nathaniel snorted, “Maybe, but it put a definite crimp in his plans to marry her to Fergus. She refused to listen to him; she even threatened to join the Chantry if he so much as hinted at the possibility. Knowing Delilah she would have done just that.” He shook his head fondly and turned around, “Fer-, Teyrn Cousland. I didn’t realize you were at the door.”

 

Fergus entered and sat down behind his desk; he wanted a barrier between him and them. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t bother with civilities.

 

“Alistair is long overdue and nobody has heard from him since he first arrived at Montsimmard,” Nate started to relay all the recent events. Fergus scowled, thinking of all the complications, but didn’t interrupt. When Nathaniel was finished nobody spoke for several minutes. Finally they agreed that Fergus should discreetly assess the situation in Amaranthine from the banns’ perspective while Mhairi would accompany Nathaniel to Orlais.

 

“Soup and a cold buffet are set up in the small dining room; I didn’t know how long we would be. I’ll inform the stable master to have horses ready for you both in the morning,” Fergus coolly informed them. He didn’t look at Nathaniel, “Warden, you might as well spend the night in one of the guest rooms; you’ll be safer here than in the village. Probably.” He nodded curtly and left them. He grabbed a loaf of bread and a bottle of whiskey and stalked upstairs to the family quarters. He didn’t want to spend another minute with the son of his family’s murderer.

 

The guard outside the family quarters was one of the few Highever soldiers to survive Ostagar. He’d been in service to the Couslands for years; his youngest son was squire to some of Teyrn Cousland’s men, _“And I didn’t think that’d mean Master Fergus so soon. My brother lost his little girl to that murdering rat; hasn’t been the same since. Master’s having a bad night. It’s been months since he took a bottle into the rooms he shared with his wife and son. That Oren, he was a lively whelp,”_ he thought fondly. _“It ain’t right, young Howe coming here and bringing back all those bad memories.”_ He frowned and shook his head to clear it.

 

He was still frowning when Howe and Mhairi came upstairs. Maker help him, he wanted to hate the son for the father’s deeds, but, _“That boy looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looks nearly as miserable as His Lordship.”_ He remembered when the men were just boys and inseparable, causing pies to mysterious disappear from the kitchen. Sometimes they let young Blake tag along behind, the little rogue just beaming. Poor Thomas just never seemed to catch up, “ _I heard he died fighting the darkspawn, like a proper Fereldan. The sister, what was her name again? Delilah, that’s it, for all the difference in years she and young Mistress Elissa were thick as thieves. Those girls had each other’s back when it came to the boys, scamps that they were. That seems like a long time ago.”_

 

In his room Nathaniel was finding it difficult to sleep. The last time he was here he was visiting from the Free Marches. He brought candied plums for little Oren who would have made himself sick if Oriana didn’t ration them. _“Fergus was so happy then, he loved his Antivan bride. Father was too blind to realize he was destroying the Howes as well as the Couslands.”_ Finally, too tired to stay awake, he drifted into an uneasy slumber.

 

The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky when Nathaniel and Mhairi were ready to leave. Fergus stood at the top of the courtyard steps to see them off. An onlooker would have a difficult time deciding which man looked more haunted as they stared at each other. “They’re not the fastest horses but they’re strong goers; you should make good time. I hope you quickly find what you need.” Fergus then looked directly at Mhairi, “Safe journey. If you need anything, send word to me in Denerim.” He flicked a glance at Nathaniel, as if he couldn’t decide whether to say anything to his former friend.

 

“Thank you, my lord,” the rogue spoke in a low voice. “May our fears be for naught or at least quickly vanquished. Fortune follow you.”

 

“Take care of yourself, my lord,” the pretty knight also spoke softly. She looked like she wanted to say more but Fergus’ brooding expression deterred her. She got onto her horse and followed Nathaniel out of the castle grounds.

 

“Maker watch over you, Mhairi,” Fergus spoke to the empty air and went inside to get ready for his own journey.

 

~Vigil’s Keep~

He found Velanna, rather she found him, and they exchanged information. The Dalish mage agreed to keep watch for a while longer before heading to Soldier’s Peak and Saykor. _“So, in the evenings Mistress Woolsey goes to the old village near the Vigil and uses it for her information. Smart to mostly use the Grey Warden falcons and hawks to send messages . . . I wonder who it is she meets on occasion.”_

 

“Riordan,” Stroud was alone in his, or Alistair’s, office and raised an eyebrow when the senior Warden entered. “I never knew our Commanders had so much paperwork; I’ll show you the state of Voldrik’s repairs while you tell me what brings you to the Vigil. I could use a break away from this desk. Before you ask, the little girl is behind the stables preparing her garden.” They spoke on general matters until they were out of earshot, and nodded politely to Mistress Woolsey as they passed.

 

“I am glad the little one has found something to occupy her during Alistair’s absence. I admit I was worried about how she would cope during such a long separation.”

 

Riordan watched as Stroud automatically turned his gaze in the direction of her labors. A slight sneer crossed his face even as he brooded, “The little girl seems to be adjusting well enough.” He looked sideways at Riordan, “You didn’t come here to talk about the little girl, or were you hoping to ‘comfort’ her in her hour of need?”

 

_“Well, well, this is unexpected,”_ Riordan thought with dismay. “She is my friend and I care for her very much. This is no secret. I was referring to her garden; to what . . . I see . . . you and she have ‘connected.’ I am relieved, for you are a man of honor.”

 

“I used to think so,” Stroud almost visibly tried to shake off his mood. “You are surprisingly perceptive. I have known many Wardens before they left for their last trip to the Deep Roads. You are not as close to your Calling as I believed.”

 

“And Alistair was not delayed as we were led to believe.” Stroud turned his full attention on his fellow Warden and waited. Riordan took the plunge, “For reasons I am not at liberty to share, this connection between you is a good thing. Alistair would agree, though he may not be happy about it.” The recruiter from the Free Marches frowned in confusion. He shook his head slightly and Riordan sighed, he dare not go further. “I am worried about Alistair.”

 

Stroud grunted, “So is the little girl. She is afraid he is being held prisoner. I did not believe her at first, but . . . the fact you are here and not delirious from your Calling does support her claim. There have been other indications; and I do not like the two Wardens from Cumberland. I don’t have the resources to investigate but take some comfort in the fact they should be gone soon enough.”

 

“They have done their damage. Their trip to Kal’Hirol was a ruse, though I suspect they went there after turning Anders over to templars.”

 

“What! I would not have chosen to conscript him but he is a Grey Warden and entitled to be treated as a brother. How do you know this?” Stroud was angry now. Riordan told him about Saykor’s arrival and the two false letters. He outlined their suspicions.

 

The Acting Commander viciously stroked his mustache, “Occasionally a rumor from Nevarra or Antiva filters to us in the Free Marches, rumors that First Warden Amaz is touched by megalomania. Nebulous, easily the result of dissatisfaction rather than a possible truth. He is not likely to be near his Calling, so either the trait was always within him or he is particularly susceptible to the taint. Either way, this does not bode well for Alistair. The little girl will be devastated,” he said with pity.

 

Later, “Riordan, what brings you to Vigil’s Keep?” Mistress Woolsey challenged him at dinner. She spoke quietly, with a smile, but it was still a challenge. Riordan explained that it was time for Nathaniel to have actual recruits to teach. Failing that, he would take the rogue to Orzammar and the Deep Roads. This was the cover story he and Stroud devised on the ramparts.

 

“That should be convenient for you,” Woolsey said, “since you are near your Calling.”

 

“I should have enough time to oversee his first class of recruits,” Riordan said mildly. “I admit to some bad dreams in which the battles of Denerim and Vigil’s Keep became combined. I believe he confused regular nightmares for something else. Perhaps I should clarify this for him. I apologize if he unduly alarmed you.”

 

“I am glad you are here, my Rio,” Jannasilane said softly as she joined them. She sat down between Riordan and Stroud, the only place left.

 

“You’re late,” Stroud said disapprovingly. He was unsettled with her next to him; usually she sat at the far end of the table. They ignored each other for the rest of the meal.

 

“The Acting Commander is doing well, though he dislikes all the paperwork,” Riordan and Jannasilane were in the library, along with some others. He trusted Stroud to inform her later so he made sure their conversation was innocent.

 

She sighed and laid her head on his chest when he draped his arm over her shoulders, “I believe so, though I see little of him. I spar sometimes but mostly I work on the garden. It will take much effort to get it properly in order. Nugflutter and Poorfella, they do not understand why I enjoy this so much. If I rolled around in the dirt . . . that they would comprehend. It, working with the earth, soothes me and makes me feel more connected.”

 

He chuckled a little and tried to ignore the buzzing in his head, “They are good companions. Did you know they approve of Stroud?” Riordan lowered his voice to a bare whisper, “Trust him. I am glad he is taking care of you, little one, I admit I was worried.” She stirred a little but he didn’t give her a chance to respond. He spoke in his normal voice, “As pleasant as it is to talk with you, I am tired. Tomorrow I leave for Denerim but I promise to take a look at your progress before I leave.” He stood and immediately stumbled.

 

“Rio!” Jannasilane cried out, “What is wrong?” He looked like he didn’t quite hear her and she repeated herself. She didn’t like how pale and disoriented he’d become. One of the guards went to fetch Stroud.

 

Riordan fought to focus, “Poison,” he whispered. “Buzzing, in my head, like the Calling, but not.” He gripped her shoulders hard in his effort to stay upright. _“It must have been at dinner . . . Woolsey . . . or one of . . . the servants,”_ he thought.

 

“You do not look well, my friend, I shall assist you to your quarters,” Riordan felt Stroud moving his arms so that he could support him and help him walk.

 

“Apparently his Calling is closer than he thought,” Mistress Woolsey spoke with false concern. She and the Cumberlands entered the library soon after Stroud.

 

“I do not -” Stroud began only to be cut off by Riordan himself.

 

“Perhaps she is correct,” Riordan saw it in the Cumberlands’ eyes; tonight he was going to die. Carefully he veiled his expression in order to protect his friends, _“If I am to die it will be as a Warden.”_ Jannasilane started to speak and he put a finger on her trembling lips, “I am sorry, little one. I will not be able to see your garden after all. Trust me when I say this is for the best.” He willed her to understand. He took a deep breath, then another, until he could stand on his own feet. He looked at Stroud, “Commander, there is an entrance to the Deep Roads far below the dungeons. Master Voldrik knows how to open and close the door. Please, let us proceed while I am still able.”

 

Stroud was glad his upbringing taught him to hide his feelings. No one present could tell he knew there was something wrong and it had nothing to do with the Calling. “You,” he barked an order at the nearest servant, “please fetch Voldrik at once and have him meet us at this door.” Mentally bracing himself he looked down at Jannasilane, “Little girl, find Varel and the other Grey Wardens; we shall give Riordan as proper a sendoff as we are able.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she snapped. Her eyes accused him of all manner of things and then she was gone.

 

“Be gentle with her, she is young and I am the last link to her father,” Riordan said quietly as they began to walk.

 

Stroud curled his lip slightly, “She needs to learn discipline, but, for the sake of our friendship, I will endeavor to remember your words.” He looked at Riordan to see if his friend understood. _“Later, I will have to explain to the little girl. For now it is best if all see her anger at me.”_

 

Jannasilane stood with Oghren, Sigrun, Voldrik, and Dworkin. She refused to look at Stroud when he entered behind Riordan. Behind him were the Cumberlands, Varel, and Garevel. Mistress Woolsey finally followed them down.

 

“In Peace, Vigilance. In War, Victory. In Death, Sacrifice.” Stroud’s solemn words touched them all, “For centuries this has been the motto of Grey Wardens everywhere, ever since the First Blight when Dumat rose as an Archdemon. Riordan, you have been our brother for many years, fighting darkspawn and protecting the citizens of Thedas. I can think of no higher praise than to say you have been a good Warden, an example to the Order. I salute you. You joined us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. You bravely and unwaveringly carried the duty that cannot be forsworn. Know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.” He bowed, and all the Wardens followed suit.

 

Riordan looked around at his friends, and the others, before speaking. He looked into Jannasilane’s eyes, “I have never regretted becoming a Grey Warden; have always considered it an honor even if a difficult one to uphold. I remember when I met two young, inexperienced, valiant, dedicated Wardens and the small woman who traveled with them. She may not be a Warden herself but as the daughter of my old friend, Duncan, she understands more than most. Little one, meeting the three of you in Ostagar that day warmed a heart which was beginning to tire. I am privileged to have been your friend. Have a good life, little one. Should I meet Duncan in the Fade I will be most pleased to tell him he has a daughter to make any man proud.”

 

Oghren pulled out a filthy bit of rag and noisily blew his nose, to Riordan’s amusement and the Woolsey’s disgust. Jannasilane flew into his arms, “I, too, am most glad we met. You have been a good friend, this is truth, and I will always carry you in my heart. And I am not small.”

 

“Ah,” Riordan framed her face with his hands and gently kissed the top of her head, “beautiful words from a beautiful woman . . . a most pleasant memory to take with me. Farewell, Duncan’s daughter, who will always stand tall in my mind.” He stepped away and faced the door, “Master Voldrik, if you please.” Without looking back he entered the waiting darkness.

 

They stood silent until his footsteps faded in the distance. Stroud told Voldrik to close the doors but one of the Cumberlands spoke up, “Sir? Have these tunnels ever been mapped? What if there’s another exit? Shouldn’t we . . .”

 

Stroud glared at the man, glad to have an excuse to vent some of his anger, “You impugn the honor and integrity of a man not here to defend himself? If you wish to follow him, do so. But know this, _Ensign_ , when these doors close they will not open to an entreaty from the other side. Nor will I hold them open, subjecting the Vigil to possible darkspawn. Choose which side of the door you wish to be on and move. They close now.”

 

The Cumberland Warden looked around at the hostile faces staring at him and knew he’d made a mistake. Even his partner looked irritated. He quickly moved aside, “My apologies, Commander, I misspoke.”

 

When the doors were finally closed and locked, Jannasilane started to sniff. She looked at Stroud then, angrily, “You should have -”

 

“That’s enough, little girl. Show some restraint and respect for the man who just left us,” he spoke quietly, even though all he wanted to do just then was pick her up and comfort her.

 

She snarled, “Go . . . go hump a nug, you, you sodding stuffed shirt.” She thought he looked hurt for a moment but then she burst into tears and ran out of the room, Sigrun on her heels.

 

Oghren gave him a funny look, “We’ll look after Cherryplum, Commander. She just needs a good cry. And maybe some of my brew,” he walked out of the room.

 

Stroud turned to the remaining dwarves, “Thank you for your assistance, Master Voldrik. I am sure Riordan appreciated the presence of you and your brother.”

 

“That was a nice speech, Commander. Couldn’t have heard better in Orzammar,” Voldrik bowed and he left with his brother, who couldn’t resist a glare at the Cumberland Warden.

 

“You need to do something about that girl,” Woolsey warned. “She’s a disruptive influence.”

 

“Mistress Woolsey, I appreciate your advice but I am not going to kick her out of her home because she became overwrought during a particularly emotional time and called me names. I have been called much worse.” He tried to appease her, “I assure you I shall have a word with her once she is calm again.” Woolsey seemed satisfied if not thrilled with his response.

 

Stroud and Seneschal Varel were the last to leave. Just before entering the courtyard Stroud spoke quietly, “Varel, tomorrow I want you to quietly send someone to Amaranthine. Check the shipping schedule for travel to Cumberland. I don’t care if it’s a cargo vessel.”

 

Varel smiled tightly, “With pleasure, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. I knew I was having computer problems but I was sure I posted "Say My Name" a few days ago. Hope you enjoy.


	100. Tension in Amaranthine

She felt better in spite of her worries. The Beast was under control and relations with the man responsible much better. Stroud no longer left as soon as their ‘business’ was done. In the days after Riordan’s death he stayed with her until dawn was near, working towards friendship in spite of any lingering doubts he had. His previous contempt was now gone from their relations, _“Jean-Marc does like to dominate, to control,”_ she smiled to herself.

 

He felt her smiling, stirring the hairs on his chest and sending a pleasant tickling sensation to his groin. He smiled in return, “What is causing you to smile, little girl? Supreme satisfaction?” This, he supposed togetherness was as good a word as any, was new to him and it sometimes worried him how much he enjoyed their recent closeness. His past arrangements were satisfactory, even pleasant, but never reached below the surface or threatened his Grey Warden detachment. Those women were easily forgotten and, he supposed, he was no more to them than they were to him. The little girl snuck past his wall of aloofness without him even realizing it. He was even sleeping better, with no nightmares, because he was more relaxed with her and finally honest with himself. So he assumed.

 

Jannasilane snickered in response before protesting, “I am not little.”

 

“Hmmm, let me check,” he squeezed a well-rounded rear and then filled his hands with her breasts. He fondled them affectionately, “Perhaps not, but you will always be ‘little girl’ to me.” He lightly caressed her behind and held her close to him. He didn’t know what secrets of hers Riordan alluded to before his death, _“murder, for that is what it was,”_ but his words gave him pause. If a man he knew and respected for several years had nothing but praise and affection for her; was happy that she was with another man temporarily (the word ‘temporary’ hurt), then perhaps his own judgment or condemnation of her was wrong. He realized he _wanted_ to think badly of her for his sake because it gave him the illusion that he didn’t care for her. He wasn’t proud of that. Once he faced the fact of his own ill-placed affection for the Commander’s woman he clearly perceived that she condemned herself more than he ever had. Was he completely comfortable about their relationship? No, but, _“Whatever demons ride the little girl, I will no longer make it worse for her. She loves Alistair; I have no wish to destroy that. I could never be right for her in the long run, give her the understanding or freedom that he does. Instead I will strive to be her friend and take pleasure in this brief interval.”_

 

He remembered one night when he tied her wrists to the bed frame while she slept, thinking to introduce a new element to their play. He planned to remove them immediately if she asked but as soon as she realized what he’d done she fought like a wild animal. She nearly broke her wrists in an effort to get away until he was finally able to slice through the fine silk. She kicked at him and rolled off the bed and backed into a corner, watching him warily, eyes wide, breathing heavily, and picking at the cloth still wrapped around her wrists. It took hours to calm her down and for her to let him approach her. The minute he touched her she curled into a ball and started to cry, harsh sobs that broke his heart. She was crying too hard to protest when he pulled her into his embrace and held her tightly against him. He whispered soft words of apology; between sobs she told him about Fort Drakon and he cursed himself for a fool. He didn’t realize the level of brutality she suffered but he should have guessed.

 

“I can feel you thinking, little girl,” he said lightly, putting the harsh memory away. He bent his knees and shifted her so that she was straddling his groin and leaning against his thighs, “Do you know how much I enjoy your femininity, still hot and wet from the pleasure I gave you, snuggled against me like this?” Involuntarily she clenched against him, her eyes darkening with re-emerging desire. He spread her legs a little wider before touching her breasts, her hair; little caresses to fan the flames. He knew she could feel his manhood growing behind her and his own eyes grew heavy with passion. “When I think of you working in your garden, I imagine you naked, working the earth on hands and knees. I imagine covering you like a rampant stallion mounts a high-spirited mare; both of us fighting for control while being controlled by sheer lust. Sometimes I lay you on the ground so the sun can kiss every golden inch of you before I replace it with my lips and the earth itself blesses our union.”

 

She licked her lips and squirmed against him, whimpering when he held her firm. “You have a most wicked tongue, Jean-Marc, this is truth,” she said breathlessly. “I do not know if I will be able to work in my garden without imagining the same.” His teeth flashed white in a rare grin at her confession. She narrowed her eyes at him, “I was not thinking of having my way with you under the stars, cool night air against heated skin, touching you until you begged.”

 

He raised one arrogant eyebrow, “I do not beg, little girl. That is what you do,” he retorted. He laughed when she made a rude noise. _“Before this night is over we will see who begs,”_ he vowed to himself. “If you were not thinking of all the ways in which I pleasure you, then tell me.”

 

She grew serious again, “I do not think there is any more to be learned here. I must soon go. My Rio’s murder,” she blinked back tears before they could spill, “proves that the First does not plan on releasing my Ali. You have been a good friend.”

 

“No, but I will be in future,” he promised. “I am sorry, little girl, for my earlier behavior.” She looked down at him, confused. “That first night in the Commander’s office and since, I treated you with contempt. I was angry I desired another man’s woman and couldn’t put it aside. I was angry I broke my own code of conduct. I like you, little girl, and never should have directed this anger at you when by rights I should only be angry at myself. I do not understand this arrangement between you and Alistair, but I have no right to judge you for it.”

 

She stared at him for a long time. She sighed, “I never blamed you, Jean-Marc. How can I when I often despise myself? I may wish things were different but there are reasons . . .” her voice trailed off and he wondered what she thinking, if she would reveal her secrets. She shook her head, “It matters not.”

 

“It does. I hurt you, little girl, and I am most sorry for it. You are a truly generous woman if you do not blame me. Perhaps I do not understand but that is no excuse for my behavior,” he would have continued but she stopped him.

 

“You are too hard on yourself, Jean-Marc,” she said.

 

He pulled her forward so she was resting against his chest and he could wrap his arms around her. He could also hide his emotions from her. “The Cumberlands will be leaving on the next ship bound for Nevarra but it will not be for many days yet. I do not like the way they look at you, with cold speculation instead of appreciation for a beautiful woman or respect for the Commander’s companion and friend,” he kissed her hair. “When do you plan to go? I assume you will head to Denerim to meet Fergus or His Majesty.”

 

 _“Not before a certain Woolsey pays for her crimes against my Ali and the others,”_ she swore grimly to herself. She didn’t think Stroud would approve so she decided not to tell him. _“Besides, he may need, as Zevran would say, ‘plausible deniability.’ I am glad now that the Beast chose him.”_ She wrinkled her brow, “If I do not have a believable ruse before the new moon then I shall leave that night, covered by its darkness. The less _they_ suspect the better, but I dare not stay longer. By then Nathaniel should know as much as is possible.”

 

“Agreed. I will assist you in any way I can.” He rolled them over so she was pinned beneath him, “But now I think you need a lesson about begging.” He stopped any retort she might have and proceeded to use all his skills and knowledge of her body to prove his point.

 

Over the next several days they continued to look for ways in which Jannasilane could openly leave the Vigil without arousing suspicion. He stashed some of her belongings as well as supplies, a small amount at a time, outside the Vigil. At night they schemed, they made love, and they further explored their blossoming friendship. He even told her about the murder of his family, and he’d never spoken of that to anybody since he received the news.

 

Finally Stroud received information which might be the answer; he only hoped the little girl picked up on his cue since he was unable to tell her before dinner that night. He didn’t think they had any more time; Woolsey and the Cumberlands were different, little nuances of planning or anticipation they tried to hide. “I’m going to Amaranthine tomorrow,” he stated while helping himself to spicy chicken. “A man will be there to sell horses and I think it only fitting that we have one or two here. Alistair should not have to rent a horse when he travels, especially if it is on Arling rather than Warden business.”

 

“You didn’t say anything to me,” Mistress Woolsey argued.

 

“I was not aware I needed your permission,” he stared at the treasurer. “I am well aware of our finances, madam. I will not beggar the treasury.”

 

“Ha, better be a big horse if the Commander is wearing his full armor,” Oghren snorted.

 

“There are some things I could use . . .” Jannasilane began.

 

He sneered patronizingly, “Little girl, I am not going to shop for you.”

 

She flushed and snapped back, “I wasn’t asking you to. I’m coming with you.” She lifted her chin and dared him to stop her.

 

“Ferelden is a free country. I leave early in the morning,” he stared back. “I will not wait.” She looked like she wanted to say something but turned her full attention to the food in front of her. Conversation was subdued after their little flare up but Stroud didn’t miss the glances between Woolsey and the Cumberlands. _“They are definitely planning something. Tomorrow we must be wary without seeming to be so until we are away from the Vigil.”_

Shortly after dawn he was standing near the front gate looking for her, “I warned her that I would not wait,” he muttered.

 

The guard shifted nervously and cleared his throat, “Um, sir?” Stroud looked at him, waiting for him to continue, “She left some minutes ago; she had her little dog with her. She, um, said to tell you that she had things to do and wasn’t going to wait for you to get your, erm, rear out of bed.” He wouldn’t meet Stroud’s eyes and kept his gaze firmly on the buildings behind the man.

 

Stroud clenched his teeth, “Thank you,” he said through pressed lips. _“You did well, little girl. Let’s finish this,”_ he thought. “I doubt it will take long to catch up. Why does she have that dog with her? It will be no use against bandits or darkspawn.”

 

“She, uh, she said he wanted to visit Ser Pounce-a-lot.” The interim Commander stared at him and then walked off, muttering something under his breath the guard was thankful he couldn’t hear.

 

It wasn’t long before he saw her on the road ahead of him. “Stubborn woman,” he said when he caught up to her. She smirked and his lips curled in a slight smile, “I told Oghren I wanted him and Sigrun to take the Cumberlands to Kal’Hirol and look for more darkspawn, especially signs of the Children. We can continue to Amaranthine and find a ship bound for Denerim; I think that is the safest course, little girl.” She didn’t say anything and they walked in silence for some time.

 

“Thank you,” she said finally, “for everything. Working against the First, this can’t be easy for you.”

 

“I serve the Grey Wardens, not the First. It does the Order no good if we can’t trust our leaders. The First betrayed us when he kidnapped the Hero of Ferelden. Bring Alistair home; I will maintain his command until he returns. Little girl, Jannasilane, you are heading into great danger. Try to be careful, you have many friends who will miss you,” he gently brushed his hand across her hair. _“I already miss you, little girl, come home safely.”_

 

She stopped and turned to him, “Jean-Marc, I-” he didn’t let her finish.

 

“We have company,” he quietly warned her.

 

“Apparently you two don’t dislike each other as much as you want everybody to believe,” the taller Cumberland said. “Look, Stroud, we don’t care if you’re bending her over; she’s decent looking and close to hand, I get it.” He waved his hand dismissively and leered at Jannasilane. “That’s finished now; we have orders from Mistress Woolsey to take her to Weisshaupt. Hand her to us and we’ll get going. We have a long way to travel and I don’t want to miss our ship,” the shorter Cumberland reached for her arm.

 

“Gentlemen,” Stroud’s sword stopped them from moving forward. “You are very much mistaken if you believe I accept orders from some dried up bookkeeper or two Wardens with less brains than an Orzammar nug. The young lady is not a Warden and not bound by any dictates from any of us. Kidnapping, which is what you propose, is a crime. If you wish to live you will very slowly put down your weapons and place your hands on your heads.” He spoke softly, his voice full of menace.

 

The Cumberlands were useful to Woolsey because they were loyal, strong, and willing to get dirty. Past successes made them over-confident. They drew their weapons, “We have our orders. We only have to keep her alive, if you make this difficult for us we’ll make it difficult for her. It’s a long trip and we have one cabin. We could work something out with the crew if we tire of her.”

 

“Roll,” Stroud commanded and charged the two men. Jannasilane rolled sideways, drawing her daggers and moving behind them. The Cumberlands fought hard, but couldn’t stand against the well-trained chevalier and their victim’s flashing daggers. “I meant for you to stand aside, little girl,” he berated her as they moved the bodies behind some bushes and arranged ‘evidence’ of a bandit attack.

 

“I will not stand aside and let another fight my battles for me while I wring my hands helplessly,” she snapped. Then she smiled, “I am, of course, grateful for your assistance.” Her smile faded and she shuddered, “He spoke truth about what would happen on board. I sensed it, his lie was that your actions could prevent them using me or selling me night after night. I could not let that happen,” she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

 

He soothed her, “Never, little girl, I will never let that happen.”

 

She felt him wince. “You are hurt,” she accused. She looked around and made a decision, “Come, my Jean-Marc, those trees will give us some privacy and I will tend your wound.” He looked dubious so she sniffed, “Unless you are afraid and not the stalwart Warden I thought you. Really, you cannot go into Amaranthine looking like a bandit yourself.”

 

“It is merely a scratch,” he protested but let her lead him away. Nugflutter followed silently after displaying a very dog-like disdain for the two who attacked his mistress. Stroud didn’t speak as she carefully removed his armor and tended to him. He studied her, memorizing every move, every feature. He wanted just one thing for himself, a last time with her here, where it was just the two of them and they could be completely open. No subterfuge. No worry about being discovered. He stopped her hand from applying more elfroot, “I am fine, little girl.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, reverently, “For the first time I wish I were a man of words so I could tell you how beautiful you are, the sunlight dappling your skin and hair through the leaves. You should be naked, like a nymph of legend, an answer to ancient mysteries if one only had the key.”

 

She blinked in surprise; with her free hand she caressed the side of his face, “For a man of no words that was most poetic, my Jean-Marc. I fear you have carved out a niche in my heart, this is truth. I will worry about you when I leave, this is also truth.”

 

Slowly, giving her every chance to stop him, he unlaced her robe and gently eased it off her shoulders. When her breasts were revealed he leant forward and barely kissed them. The calluses on his hands were a delicious contrast to the softness of his kisses, causing her to shiver. He stood, bringing her to her feet so her robe could fall to the ground in a pool around her. His breathing was ragged but still he moved slowly. He removed the rest of his armor and undergarments while she ran exploring hands over his muscles as if for the first time, stopping to trace a scar or kiss sensitive skin. When they were both naked he picked her up in his arms and carried her to a nearby patch of moss and laid her down.

 

Jannasilane looked at him solemnly; they both knew this was the last time they would be together. It would be harder than she thought to leave him but; he pressed his finger to her lips, “Stop thinking, little girl. I know your heart belongs to Alistair and I have no wish to change this. That you have allowed me a small place in it humbles me for I have done nothing to deserve it. I care for you and will always be your friend; that is enough.” She reached for him and there were no more words; just sighs and soft murmurs accompanied by the rustling of the leaves in the breeze.

 

A few hours later they were once again dressed and ready to travel. “My Jean-Marc, there were things I wished to tell you but now there is no time,” she frowned slightly.

 

“My dear little girl, you can tell me after you return with your Alistair. I am more than happy with how we spent this last time together,” he responded with a twinkle in his eye.

 

She snorted, “You can be a wicked man, this is truth. Take care, Jean-Marc. Be good, Nugflutter,” she nuzzled the little dog who whined his disapproval.

 

“Maker watch over you, little girl,” he responded with a bow. He and Nugflutter watched her leave. Finally he sighed and looked down, “Come, we head to Amaranthine; I still wish to see the man about his horses. Before we leave the city we shall retrieve your friend Ser Pounce-a-lot and bring him home. It is the least I can do for Anders.” Nugflutter woofed his agreement. _“In Orlais they say Fereldans are mad. I must be a Fereldan now . . . talking to a dog and bringing back a cat who hates me. It shall be a nice surprise for the little girl when she returns, though. The Woolsey will not be happy,”_ he smiled a little. When he returned to the Vigil two days later with dog, cat and two horses Mistress Woolsey was gone.


	101. Night Chill in Denerim

She was glad it was cold and raining. Not because the darkness made her harder to see but because it matched her mood. How did Zevran manage to stay so cheerful? She’d killed. If she had to do it over again, she would, the woman threatened her Ali and others, but she’d never killed in cold blood before. _“Murder,”_ Jannasilane told herself as she watched the royal guards from the clouds, _“Don’t glaze sugar on it, it was murder. Maker forgive me, but I don’t know if I could have done anything else or even wanted to. She hurt enough of mine.”_ She saw her opening and quickly swooped down to Zevran’s balcony and shifted.

 

If there had been an onlooker they would have seen a small woman crouched in the shadows, shivering, in the cold, wet night. Her shoulders were slumped as if all of Thedas was pressing down on her. She looked through the curtains and collapsed against the glass.

 

Zevran hummed to himself, the Warden and Queen Anora had been out of Denerim for the past several days and tonight was the first night they had to be together. _“Truth be told, she doesn’t complain or even seem to mind. I think she’s glad that publicly he is a faithful and attentive husband. Judging by her demeanor she is happy with the Warden’s prowess in bed and does not begrudge his spending time with my handsome self a couple of times a week. If only he would get her with child . . .”_ He opened the door to his quarters and looked around approvingly. The bath was already set up, with an array of oils conveniently in reach. Wine, food and other comforts were arranged invitingly for a tryst. He did this every night and knew the servants wondered who had his attention this time. Occasionally his mythical lover ‘left behind’ a small item the maids found in the morning. The game amused him and kept his Warden’s secret safe.

 

He frowned, something wasn’t right. He looked around again, everything was where it should be, nothing disturbed. _“There,”_ the assassin moved carefully towards the balcony. His sharp eyes spotted a darker shadow against the glass. He silently lifted the latch and eased open the door. “Braska!” he cursed when Pocket Goddess stared at him with dull eyes. He examined the balcony, satisfied himself she was alone, and then bent down in front of her. “Come, my dear, you should not be outside in this foul weather. Let us get you warm and dry and then you can tell Papa Zev what troubles you.”

 

She was so cold and stiff he practically carried her inside. “I would be remiss if I did not remind you that the castle has a front door through which most people enter. What have you been doing to yourself?” he scolded her gently and stood her in front of the fire. He kept up a gentle patter as he wrapped her in a blanket and prepared some honeyed wine with elfroot. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She just stared into the flames, swaying slightly and shaking with cold. “Bellissima, I am just going to check on something and then I am all yours.” She didn’t answer or make any sign that she heard him. He locked the door behind him and hurried to Blake’s personal desk; if he remembered correctly there was a letter from Fergus. He thought nothing of it at the time but now he wondered. He knew the Teyrn was in Denerim and had some Grey Wardens staying with him; his network of spies was quite thorough.

 

_“Ah, just as I thought,”_ the Antivan calmly opened the letter without a single qualm. He read the brief contents:

 

_“Dear little brother,_

_I have been traveling and would like to discuss with you a few things of interest. They are somewhat time-sensitive so the sooner the better. I would also like you to meet with some people currently staying with me._

_At your earliest convenience,_

_Fergus”_

Zevran made a decision. He quickly wrote out a response and rang for the seneschal. “Fenton, see that this is delivered directly into Teyrn Cousland’s hands. In about an hour he and some companions will arrive at the castle; please show them to Their Majesties’ sitting room and bring refreshments. The king is looking forward to seeing his brother,” he added the white lie. It would be truth soon enough. “And Fenton, it might be best if we maintain a certain discretion.”

 

“Very good, sir,” he left. He and Zevran understood each other very well. He wasn’t sure of the Antivan when they first met but since then realized he was devoted His Majesty’s good health, and by extension, Her Majesty. Security at the castle had never been tighter.

 

When he returned to his room she hadn’t moved, not even to drink the wine he placed in her hand. “My dear Pocket Goddess, the wine won’t do you any good unless you drink it,” he held it to her lips and she obediently swallowed. He made sure she drank it all and then took the glass from her hands. “Now for a nice warm bath. Luckily for you I happen to have one ready and waiting. We even have a variety of bath oils, some to soothe, some to excite . . . I think soothing would be best.” He poured a mixture of lavender and lemon oils into the water and stirred. He went to her side, “Still not talking? Never mind, fortunately I enjoy the sound of my own voice. Let me take this blanket away now, it has done its job. Can you begin removing your clothes? No? Then I shall have the pleasure of doing it myself. It is always a pleasure to undress a beautiful woman. I offered my services to Her Majesty but sadly, she declined.” A few minutes later, “There, that’s the last of it. Now come with me, that’s right, can you step into the tub? Very good, just sink into the warm water and let it embrace you.”

 

He watched her for a moment and made a decision. She needed more than physical warmth; she needed the warmth of a friend. He quickly shucked off his own clothes and stepped behind her into the tub. He rubbed her neck and shoulders, “Tsk, tsk, so much stress. Allow Zevran to take care of you; the Warden will tell you my fingers are quite magical.” He hummed, he told stories, he even sang an old Antivan lullaby. Finally she sighed and leaned bonelessly against him. She was so tired. For the first time since Alistair left she was able to completely relax. “See, my magic has worked. Now to get out before you fall asleep,” The worried Antivan helped her out of the water and began drying her hair after wrapping another towel around her body. “You will feel much better after a little nap and then you can tell me everything, my adorable Minit. Come, come,” he helped her into his bed and tucked the covers securely around her.

 

Her eyelids were fluttering to a close so he was surprised when she finally spoke. “Zev,” she might as well have whispered, her voice was so soft, “how do you kill someone without getting sick?” She was asleep before he could answer; which was just as well because for once he didn’t have the words to answer her.

 

He looked down at her sadly, “What other burdens do you carry, bellissima? Certainly this is not one I would wish on you; your heart is too tender.” His ‘guests’ and their Majesties would be arriving soon so he moved quickly. First, he entered the Queen’s dressing chamber and retrieved a thick, short (on Anora) tunic. It would do for Pocket Goddess when she woke. Anora was fond of her and would surely forgive the appropriation. Once all was ready he poured himself a glass of wine and sat down to wait.

 

“I’m glad that’s done,” Blake entered. He and Anora looked stunning after dining with Eamon and other nobles. “Sometimes I agree with Alistair that people should just say what they mean without all the pomp and circumstance.”

 

“But you and her lovely Majesty make pomp and circumstance something wondrous to behold,” Zevran replied.

 

“I appreciate the compliment,” Anora nodded slightly, “but I always find it a relief when I can shed the fripperies. They can be annoyingly heavy at times.”

 

She started to leave the room but Zevran stopped her, “I must tell you that Fergus will be arriving soon with some companions. I fear we might have a situation and it may involve the Crown as much as it does the Grey Wardens. I am sorry that the matter intrudes on your personal time.”

 

Blake looked at him; he understood the last was meant for him. He sighed, “At least we got home first so we can change into something a great deal more comfortable. We could be in for a long night.” They quickly changed and returned to wait for Fergus. They passed the remaining time telling Zevran about the evening; Blake knew what Anora was quickly learning, that it was a waste of time trying to get the Antivan to reveal anything before he was ready. So Blake was unprepared when Fergus entered followed by Nathaniel Howe, “What is _he_ doing here?” he growled under his breath. He looked daggers at his lover. Zevran was prepared and unperturbed.

 

Anora lightly tapped his arm in friendly warning, “Teyrn Cousland, it is good to see you again in spite of the late hour. Is all well in Highever?” Her greeting helped pass over the tense moment.

 

“Your Majesty, lovely as ever,” Fergus bowed. “I admit I didn’t expect my brother to call me to the castle near midnight instead of first thing in the morning. However, I think it is just as well that he replied to my message as he did.”

 

“I may have taken a liberty or two,” Zevran admitted with a graceful wave of his hand. “Some . . . evidence has come my way which, since you are here with two estimable Grey Wardens, I believe has some bearing on your cause.” All eyes turned to him for an explanation. “No, no, allow me my moment of drama. And it will make more sense if someone explains from the beginning.”

 

“Yes,” Anora raised one elegant eyebrow, her tone dry, “as long as somebody speaks.”

 

“Then I would like to introduce you to Warden Saykor. He is Oghren’s cousin and one of the new recruits who followed Alistair to Amaranthine.”

 

Saykor stood. He was damned if he was going to speak to the king and queen of Ferelden while his feet dangled above the floor like a child’s. “It started with a letter from the First. . . .” he relayed the events and his observations until the time he arrived at Soldier’s Peak.

 

“We, or I, had not sent any such letter,” Nathaniel took up the narrative. “Instead we received one stating Alistair’s travel plans were delayed. The scrawl was rough but the phrasing very much like the Warden-Commander’s. Riordan decided to go to Amaranthine; he knew Stroud and felt he could best assess the situation. We haven’t heard from him since.”

 

“I was surprised to see a Warden on my doorstep,” Fergus spoke lightly but his knuckles were white from gripping the arm of his chair, indicating the strength of his tension. “He and Mhairi left to trace Alistair’s movements in Orlais and I went to Amaranthine to analyze the nobles' understanding.” Blake sent a look of sympathy to his brother; he knew Fergus had been avoiding the arling since he returned from the Korcari Wilds.

 

Zevran held up a hand, “And now, before you go any further, I shall produce my own contribution to the story.” Anora took control of the conversation while he was gone, eliciting details from the two Grey Wardens. When Zevran returned the reactions were everything he hoped.

 

“Mouse!” “Package, when . . .” “Lady J?”

 

“I found her slumped in a doorway, shaking in the rain. My first priority was to get her warm and dry. My dear,” he helped her onto the settee next to Nathaniel, “it is time to tell us what brings you to Denerim. Saykor has told us much.” His Warden scowled when she grabbed the hand offered by his onetime friend.

 

Jannasilane sighed wearily, “Then you know my Ali should have returned weeks ago.” She turned sorrowful eyes to Nathaniel, then Blake, “Jean-Marc told me about Anders. I hope he is somewhere safe, unlike my Rio,” she burst into tears and wept in Nathaniel’s arms.

 

Blake didn’t like the sound of that, “Who is Jean-Marc?” he asked. The other two Wardens shrugged.

 

She got herself under control, though she was still shaking. “S-stroud,” she answered. “He came from the Free Marches to learn more about the Children. He was considering my Ali’s offer for him to become the new Professor of Wardenology. He is a, a friend.”

 

Only Zevran could see enough of her face to notice her blush through the tears. Blake smiled a little, “Only Alistair would come up with that title.”

 

“Jannasilane, what happened to Riordan?” Anora’s soft voice reminded them they needed information.

 

“That bitch murdered him!” she snarled and dug her fingers into Nathaniel’s arms. To give him credit, he didn’t even wince. “Rio came to the Vigil and spoke with Je-, I mean Stroud. That same night she poisoned him, making it appear to others that he was suffering from his Calling. He went into the Deep Roads under the Vigil, all alone.” She waited until the men’s vigorous cursing subsided before continuing. “There was no longer any doubt in our minds that my Ali was kidnapped. I did not wish suspicions to fall on the Wardens staying behind so we created an opportunity for me to leave Vigil’s Keep. I was not sure what I might find at Soldier’s Peak so I came here.”

 

“I am glad you are safe, my lady Mouse,” Nathaniel said. “After Highever, Ser Mhairi and I journeyed to Jader and Montsimmard. You’ve heard the phrase nobody curses like a sailor? I have wandered a number of sea ports and can honestly say that nobody curses like a female Orlesian Warden-Commander. Commander Clarel managed to sound both vicious and elegant. They sent their best scouts to learn what they could. Shortly after the Weisshaupt Wardens who came to Montsimmard left, they picked up a large wagon, boarded up like a giant crate. I think it is safe to say that Alistair was in that box.”

 

He smiled a little, “She wasted no time in sending a slew of messages to other Warden-Commanders. I don’t know exactly what she said other than inviting any who wished to join her in protesting such high-handed actions to meet her near Kal-Sharok. I doubt she plans a rescue action, exactly, but she definitely plans to let the First know that he cannot kidnap Warden-Commanders without paying a price. If he wanted to keep his actions a secret, he didn’t do a very good job. Ser Mhairi and our Wardens are returning to the Vigil where she will take over Woolsey’s duties.”

 

“We need to make sure neither she nor the Cumberlands can interfere,” Fergus was concerned for the knight.

 

“They won’t,” Jannasilane withdrew into herself and clasped her arms around her knees. “We left for Amaranthine, Stroud ‘reluctantly allowed me to accompany him.’ But our ruse was for nothing; the Cumberlands were waiting for us. They had orders to take me to Weisshaupt, alive and in one piece, more or less. Jean-Marc refused; we fought; they’re dead, ‘victims of bandits.’”

 

_“Ah, we are getting closer to her troubled soul,”_ Zevran thought. “I am glad they are dead,” the others murmured agreement. They understood what would have happened before she reached the Anderfels. “This is encouraging news, Pocket Goddess. I daresay you were to be used as a pawn against our Hero, which means the First has no immediate plans to kill him. You are most fortunate to have such a stalwart ally. But that still leaves Mistress Woolsey of the perpetually sour disposition. She -” He got no further.

 

Jannasilane began chanting. Chills chased up their spines; Blake and Zevran looked at each other, eerie memories dancing between them of their trip to the Deep Roads when they found Hespith.

_“Mistress Woolsey placed herself above us all,_

_Mistress Woolsey from on high had a terrible fall,_

_Some of her here,_

_Some of her there,_

_Bits and pieces of Woolsey everywhere,_

_But you will find Mistress Woolsey most of all_

_In the depths of dwarven Kal’Hirol”_

Everybody was silent for a moment, thinking about her meaning. Jannasilane looked ill and started to stir. Anora took immediate action. She quickly moved to the younger woman, “Come with me.” She didn’t give Jannasilane a chance to refuse. She took her hand and hustled the girl to her private quarters. The two ladies were gone for some time before Anora returned, “She’s fine. We talked and I convinced her to get some rest; I can only imagine the strain she’s been under.” She looked at each man in turn, “Whatever plans we make, she will not remain behind. She told me to tell you that not even Fort Drakon will hold her and keep her from rescuing her Ali.”

 

Blake grinned, “That sounds like my Package.” He was relieved. He rubbed his hands together at the prospect of more adventure, “Let’s figure out how to get one big lug home again. We should be able to use Commander Clarel’s protest as a distraction.” They all threw out ideas and discussed their merits.


	102. The Prisoner Alistair

First Warden Amaz was convinced Fereldans were mad and this one was deliberately trying to make him crazy. For days, he’d been questioning Alistair without success. He received no further information than what Xavier had already collected. The very first time Alistair came to the Great Hall of Wardens he witnessed an animated exchange between the ‘Hero’ and his High Constable, culminating with Xavier practically shoving a package into the large warrior’s hands. Xavier angrily walked away and approached the First. “Trouble, Constable?” he asked while he kept his pale brown eyes on the Fereldan.

 

“He wished to take back a gift,” Xavier didn’t keep his voice down as much as he thought.

 

Alistair stopped perusing the robe he had ostentatiously opened in order to pretend to look for damages. He'd already tucked the daggers into his belt. He looked directly at the First, “These were for somebody I respect. That person is _definitely_ not here.” He turned his attention back to the robe, folded it, placed it on the floor and then lay down with his hands behind his head. “Nice ceiling you have way up there,” he remarked.

 

Everybody stared. Some who had suffered from the First’s high-handed and unwarranted actions were secretly, and not-so-secretly, amused. The guards didn’t know what to do. The man had weapons and obviously knew how to use them, but was making no moves to do so. The First’s nostrils flared. “You were not brought here to discuss the ceiling. You are here to answer questions about the Archdemon,” he said coldly.

 

“Your agenda, not mine,” Alistair cheerfully replied, his eyes still on the ceiling. He had excellent peripheral vision and decided he wasn’t in immediate danger. His campaign of annoyance was off to a terrific beginning. “I wonder which fortress is older. Vigil’s Keep has been around for at least a thousand years . . . I bet it’s older. Your ceilings are a lot higher than the Vigil’s, yet are so clean and shiny. How do you manage it? Magic? A really, really long stick with a duster on the end? Must look like a white flag,” he saw a servant girl moving around the perimeter of the room, quietly seeing to the needs of the observers, _“my questioners, perhaps?”_ He sat up and caught her eye, “Excuse me, miss,” he smiled as charmingly as he knew how, which was more than he realized.

 

She blinked in surprise; she didn’t know how to respond. The man was a prisoner, yet he was also the _Hero of Ferelden_ and he was _smiling_ at her. _“Maker, he’s so handsome,”_ she thought. “S-sir?” she stuttered and then blushed.

 

“How do you keep such a high ceiling so clean and sparkly?” he looked at her as if her answer was the most important thing in the world to him.

 

She looked around. Everybody was now staring at her but nobody made a move to prevent her from answering, “You, you can’t see them, sir, unless you know where to look, something about per...ception and angles, but there are actually balconies up near the top.” She pointed, “Those beams aren’t support or simple decoration; they’re planks we can walk on. _You’d_ actually hit your head on the ceiling, my lord. Other rooms aren’t so high and we have special ladders we can hook to the wall sconces for stability.”

 

“Fascinating,” Alistair replied. “ _You_ may call me Alistair. Aren’t you scared to be up so high? You’re too pretty to be smashed on the ground, um, what’s your name?”

 

“Vhundar, and isn’t everybody?” she replied pertly.

 

“Almost everybody,” he smiled lazily. “Thank you for the information.” Somebody coughed and she started guiltily before scurrying off with a story to tell the other servants. Alistair lay back down, “It’s so nice to be able to stretch out for a change.”

 

“Since you seem to be so tired, you should probably go to your room and rest. Two of my Wardens will show you the way,” Amaz motioned jerkily to the guards.

 

The next several days followed a pattern. Alistair got up, put on all his gear, and roamed the same areas as any new recruit to Weisshaupt, except for the armory, accompanied by two guards. No matter who they were, he called the taller one Frick and the other Frack. He exercised every day, sparring with other Wardens or against training dummies. Frequently he jogged from one part of the fortress to another which forced his guards to do the same. Their fabled Warden stamina wasn’t honed by being on the run for a year and then chasing talking darkspawn all over Amaranthine. Every morning and every afternoon, he was summoned to the First; every morning and every afternoon, he asked his own questions and never answered any.

 

He liked the library. Alistair strolled through the sections, plucking books and papers at random. Some he would skim and immediately replace others he would peruse at length. The archivists couldn’t determine a pattern to his selections. They were mostly histories, but then over 75% of their collection was comprised of histories, biographies and some journals. They attributed his interest in magic to his templar training. They could only report to the First that he had the makings of a scholar and might make a good Archivist one day.

 

He surprised everyone the first night at dinner, irritating some of the Anderfels Grey Wardens and entertaining others. His guards conducted Alistair to a table with eight other Wardens, including High Constable Xavier. Food was already on their plates with platters and bowls ready for the inevitable second and third helpings. He quickly traded goblets with one tablemate, his plate with another and his bread with a third. When he sat down and began eating, he disdained the utensils at his place. Somebody muttered something about dog-lords and their manners and Alistair grinned, “Just trying to reduce my chances of being poisoned. You learn a lot when traveling with a witch who hates you, a bard, and an assassin.”

 

“Nobody is trying to poison you, Alistair,” Xavier said tightly. “I have told you this before.”

 

Alistair snorted, “You can’t possibly know that for certain. Just because you didn’t do it or order it done doesn’t mean somebody else,” he glanced deliberately at the table where the First sat glaring at him, “didn’t slip something in somewhere.” When one of the Wardens he traded with stopped eating Xavier left the table. Every meal afterwards, Wardens grabbed plates, bowls, etc. at random and served themselves from communal platters.

 

The servants liked him because, just as he did at Vigil’s Keep, he treated them with respect and always thanked them for any services they did for him. Consequently, they disliked the egotistical First even more. They never did anything obvious, but he wasn’t quite as comfortable as before. Amaz was clueless; he attributed it to Alistair’s irritating behavior.

 

Finally First Warden Amaz’s limited patience snapped. The day started like any other, the morning questioning was as unproductive as any other was. “It is past time, Alistair, for you to tell me about the Archdemon,” the First started the afternoon session tersely.

 

“Maybe you’re right,” Alistair conceded. “The Archdemon . . . it was really big and really purple, a beautiful, deep purple. I remember thinking I know why royalty likes it so much. Are all the Archdemons that color? I couldn’t find anything in the records. And are any other high dragons the same color? The only other one I’ve seen was purplish-brownish-greenish, kind of. If only Archdemons are that color, shouldn’t everybody know? Then if people did see an Archdemon-colored dragon, they could tell their local Wardens. We can sense them, but if more people knew what they looked like then maybe they would be easier to find. I really hate that something so evil can be so beautiful. The armor you could make from it, I bet kings would envy whoever had it. Hmm, guess I’ll stick to my regular armor. I _really_ don’t think being the envy of kings can possibly be a good thing.”

 

“I don’t care about the damned color of the Archdemon!” First Warden Amaz was nearly apoplectic.

 

Alistair looked at him reproachfully, “You don’t need to yell; I can hear you perfectly fine. _You_ were the one who wanted to talk about the Archdemon, after all. Fine, fine, Mr. Grumpypants, we’ll talk about something else. Do you think blue is the Maker’s favorite color?” he asked seriously. “Look around, well, not in here. In here, it’s all grey and stony colors. Maybe you’d be more cheerful if you added some yellow or pink or red. A cheerful, bright red and not icky, blood red. Anyway, the sky is blue, water is blue, lots of people have blue eyes, even the night sky is a deep blue and not black. So it seems to me that blue must be His favorite. It’s like painting your bedroom; you see it every day so you want it to be a color you like. And before He turned away from us, he must have looked at us and our world all the time. On the other hand, maybe green, there’s a lot of green, too. The Fade is greenish, but I don’t really like that shade of green-”

 

The First pounded his fists on the table in front of him. Then he calmed himself. Still breathing heavily, he glared at Alistair, “Perhaps when you have some company you will be more forthright with your answers instead of all this inane babbling. Until then you can stay in our dungeon. Guards,” he commanded them to take the young warrior away.

 

The dungeon really wasn’t a dungeon. It was simply an unused building at the back of the fortress with cells built into it. He supposed Weisshaupt really didn’t need one, as inaccessible as it was except through the main gate, _“Unless you can fly,”_ he thought wistfully.

 

One of his guards, Frack, noticed his gaze, “That’s where the griffons used to be. I bet you wished you had one with you when you were fighting the Archdemon.”

 

“Who wouldn’t?” Alistair replied.

 

“There used to be more buildings but they got crushed in a rock slide several decades ago, killed a lot of Wardens. Our prison here is the nearest one not damaged. Sometimes one of our leaders suggests digging it out,” he shrugged, “but without the griffons we can hold twice as many Wardens as we have now and still not be crowded. Wasted effort, if you ask me.” Alistair nodded thoughtfully.

 

He stepped inside the largest of the cells; somebody had tried to make it a bit more comfortable and dragged in a small table and chair. His guards noticed it with mild surprise but didn’t say anything. They, as did many of the Weisshaupt Wardens, felt the First Warden was wrong. Some of the younger ones would have given their back teeth for the opportunity to ask questions about the Archdemon and those long months before the final battle. That they lost this unique chance to talk to somebody who had actually fought the nemesis they trained for because the First had a temper tantrum . . . Fostering a rebellion was not in Alistair’s plans but his presence was shining a light on the shadows of discontent. Riordan told him once that Weisshaupt was a cold place and the Anders a grim lot, possibly reflecting their harsh surroundings. The young Fereldan didn’t know it, but if he had responded with expected surliness and anger instead of cheerful goofiness he wouldn’t have such strong, if unstated, support. What Alistair did recognize was that the Grey Warden rank and file didn’t resent him or go out of their way to make his life more difficult.

 

That evening he stared at the rock pile through his window and mentally recited the Litany of Adralla for the thousandth time. He didn’t even think about it anymore. _“I wonder how long he plans on keeping me here,”_ he wondered and amused himself picturing the First in various unflattering and unlikely poses. _“Let the blood mages report **that** back to the little twit,” _ he smirked. _“I bet Morrigan would say I’m finally exceeding her expectations as village idiot.”_ He performed a mana cleanse just in case and whirled around when there was a gasp behind him. “I didn’t hear you come in,” he said mildly. He studied her carefully; she was older than he was by at least twenty years, obviously a mage since she collapsed after the cleansing, and an elf. She was dark, slight, and something else, “You’re not a Warden.”

 

She straightened herself and looked up at him, “I used to be.” She chuckled ruefully when he frowned in confusion, “My former fellows are just as bewildered by this fact as you are. I am, too, if you wish to know. I think I will not be here much longer; at this point, I am not particularly welcome. I have ‘somehow cheated my destiny’ and since I cannot explain how this was done . . . we are alike in this respect. Two Wardens who have survived our fate.”

 

“Uh-huh, so . . . what? You tell me your story and I tell you mine?” he snorted in derision. The expression on her face, why did it look familiar? He was quite sure he’d never met her before.

 

“That’s not why I’m here,” she protested quietly. “I am not asking you to trust me, after your forced presence I doubt that is possible. I shouldn’t be here but I _am_ concerned and I don’t like what Amaz is doing. Did you know that Mistress Woolsey is his sister? They hide the connection but I have known him a long time. He can’t let you leave here, especially now that all his men know you are not here of your own volition. Your only choice is whether you stay here as a living Warden or a dead one.”

 

Alistair shrugged, “That doesn’t surprise me. Well, maybe the bit about Woolsey being his sister. I figured she was reporting to him, we really didn’t need a treasurer though she’s good at the job.”

 

 “She is more than his eyes and ears,” the woman said sharply. “She does his dirty work. She isn’t physically strong but she employs some young Wardens who do whatever she wants. Amaz sent orders for them to bring your companion, Janna, I think, here. His only conditions were that she must be alive and not disabled or disfigured. These men, this gives them plenty of latitude for their ‘particular’ pleasures. I’m sorry, Alistair, but the First does not like being thwarted.” She looked at him with pity.

 

“Then he’s a bigger fool than I thought,” he answered and turned his back on her to stare out the window. He forced himself to think of the First as a giant baby having a temper tantrum in order not to put a hole in the walls he built up. His people weren’t stupid; he was confident that when he was first overdue they began making plans. Woolsey was in for a surprise; he couldn’t afford to think of anything else. 

 

“Pssst, Fiona, your time’s up,” Frick stuck his head in the door. He glanced at Alistair and then withdrew.

 

“I must go, Alistair, be careful,” Fiona said sadly. There was so much she wanted to share, but it was too late. She supposed it had been too late for a very long time.

 

“You visit has been, well, it’s been an experience,” he turned around to face her. “Good luck with the whole non-Warden thing.”


	103. Finally, the Anderfels

“Sleep, bellissima. There is nothing you can do until the protesting Wardens arrive; our majestic Warden was correct in believing we would get here first. Flying with you between my legs is definitely a pleasure and not just a fast means of travel,” he leered playfully and waggled his eyebrows at her. She laughed for the first time in weeks. It was a weak laugh but reassured the Antivan that his friend was all right.

 

“I think I’ll be glad to return with Greagoir’s templars,” Blake complained. Zevran and Jannasilane grinned at him; if the Warden had a weakness, it was travel sickness whether by sea or air. “When I told him about Anders’ ambush he was almost angry enough to give me _all_ his templars. I’m convinced he didn’t know anything about it. He even told me he was glad when he heard Anders was with the Wardens; that for all his troublemaking and escape attempts he didn’t think poorly of the man.”

 

Zevran snorted, “Then it is a good thing you let him think the templars carted him off somewhere and did not tell him the end of the encounter. Liking Anders is one thing, dead templars . . .”

 

Their plan, hastily concocted as it was, was working so far. Fergus, with the aid of a new hairstyle and some dye, was impersonating Blake for brief and sporadic appearances. If anybody was curious, the Teyrn of Highever was out of the country discreetly exploring some new trade opportunities. Zevran accompanied the Teyrn in order to lend his expertise. Nathaniel and the borrowed templars traveled on the same ship to Val Chevin, from where they began their long march to join the protesting Wardens. Commander Clarel had a head start but the sea voyage gained them some time. Blake, Zevran and Jannasilane usually remained in their cabin in order to protect their identity. Zevran insisted on making Blake resemble Fergus and that they all wear hoods as a precaution. Once out of Val Chevin, the three of them sometimes used the Deep Roads but more often traveled overland through less populated areas. At night, when they thought it safe, Jannasilane shifted and they flew with the result they were days, if not a week, ahead of Commanders Clarel and Nalia.

 

Fortunately, from her mother’s journal, they knew approximately where the aeries were in relation to the fortress and the abandoned Griffonsong encampment. They approached Weisshaupt from the rear of the fortress, as high as they could and still breathe. Slowly and silently Jannasilane flew until they found their temporary base: high enough they wouldn’t be heard, low enough they could observe clearly with the aid of a spyglass.

 

“Are you sure this will work?” Jannasilane asked doubtfully. “Won’t they see you?”

 

“Oh, Pocket Goddess, how you wound me, and after I have come such a long way to help you. Tsk, tsk,” Zevran clucked playfully. “Why do you think I like to travel the rooftops? I shall tell you,” he didn’t wait for an answer, “people don’t look up. In this case, why would they even think so to do? We have to know where Alistair is located so somebody must go down. They might be able to sense an unfamiliar Warden but I am not such a one. Alas, I shall have to cover up my pretty hair.”

 

“That is a shame. If it’s such trouble we could cut it all off,” Blake offered helpfully. He gazed innocently at his lover when Zevran glared at him and moved away.

 

Jannasilane smiled. She knew there was little chance of Zevran being discovered. The aerie serving as their base also overlooked the abandoned Griffonsong encampment. The Antivan hoped that he would find a way inside Weisshaupt from there and that he would be able to bring Alistair back. His biggest worry was that Alistair might be too weak or injured to walk without assistance.

 

“Package, you should have told us you were pregnant while we were in Denerim,” Blake admonished her.

 

She didn’t look at him, “You would have wanted me to stay behind and then I would have been forced to come alone, this is truth.”

 

He sighed, “Probably,” and then he smiled. “I am happy for you both, I know Alistair will be thrilled, he’s always wanted children.”

 

“Yes, he’s always wanted children,” she echoed and retreated to the cave.

 

“You are now taking over Alistair’s role as group idiot, my amazingly stupid Warden?” Zevran spoke quietly but his words stung. When Blake scowled at him Zevran continued, “You apparently do not know women as well as you think. Alistair is not the father; he has been gone far too long.”

 

Blake blinked and calculated, “Shit.”

 

“Succinctly put. Those are worries for another day, however. I am now ready to begin my descent. When I tug on the rope, this bell will ring,” he pointed to a small bell he secured to the cliff wall, “and you will know I have arrived. If it rings again, begin pulling up the rope.”

 

“Be careful, Zev, I don’t want to lose you,” Blake stroked his lover’s tattoos and hair before holding him for a kiss.

 

Zevran smiled against his lips, “Do not worry about me, my dear Warden. I am looking forward to many years at your side and in your bed. Take care of our Pocket Goddess while I am gone, yes?” He began climbing down. He wedged himself between outcroppings as much as possible so the winds couldn’t smash him against the stone. _“It is a long way down,”_ he narrowed his eyes as he climbed. _“If fortune favors us enough of the original Griffonsong encampment will still be standing and useful.”_ He reached the bottom and looked around. _“Some of this does not look like it has been abandoned for centuries,”_ he frowned and proceeded carefully.

 

He might not like what the Grey Wardens did centuries ago, but he applauded their security. The path from the ruined Griffonsong encampment to Weisshaupt was a winding trail through the rubble, buttressed where necessary, and well hidden. He surmised that you could walk right by the entrance and not see it. From his perspective, he had a good view of the rear grounds and the building holding Alistair. He made himself comfortable until dark, watching. _“Two guards, rather relaxed. Well, why not? Even if Alistair were to escape, where would he go? He would have to traverse the length of the compound and get through the front, and only, gate. The road to Weisshaupt is not a hospitable one. Without sufficient food and water, he would not survive the distance to the nearest village. Braska, this place is cold! I miss the warmth of Pocket Goddess in her magnificent griffon form.”_

As soon as it was dark enough he made his way through the shadows until he reached the rear of Alistair’s ‘abode.’ He listened to the guards quietly talking to each other about their prisoner.

 

“It’s not right, keeping him here,” one muttered for what sounded like the thousandth time.

 

“No, but we have our orders. Don’t you want to know how he survived the Archdemon when he’s supposed to be dead? If there’s some trick that could help future Grey Wardens . . .”

 

The first snorted, “Like Fiona suddenly becoming an un-Warden? Seems to me that’s a much more helpful mystery to solve. Even if we think we know how Alistair did it, it’ll likely be decades if not centuries before we even know if we’re right. What if what he told Xavier is right? That he nearly _didn’t_ survive, and thinks it might be because of his templar training. We’re not going to conscript every templar on the off chance that maybe, just maybe, they can defeat the Archdemon and live.”

 

“How do you know that?” the second asked suspiciously. “You’ve been chatting up that serving girl, the one who keeps things neat and tidy for the First, haven’t you?”

 

Zevran imagined the sly smile on the first guard’s face, “Maybe. You know, it isn’t just a lot of the Wardens who think the First has gone too far. The servants don’t like him at all. He treats them like dirt and Warden-Commander Alistair treats them with respect.”

 

“Be careful what you say,” the second one hissed. “We don’t need any more trouble. Usually he’s too busy to bother with us and I’d like to keep it that way. Besides,” he added cynically, “one thing about the Calling is that no one is First forever. How about some Wicked Grace?” They retreated a short distance away.

 

Zevran carefully checked to see where they were and was satisfied they wouldn’t notice him. He looked in the windows and saw that Alistair was alone inside. He sidled to the door and lifted an eyebrow when he realized he didn’t even have to pick the lock and shook his head at such laxness. Once inside he remained very still, looking carefully for traps or previously missed occupants. Alistair was tilting back in the chair, feet on the table next to the remains of what appeared to be a decent meal. “Is there something on the ceiling more interesting than the presence of my handsome self, Alistair?” he quietly asked.

 

He expected the templar to start sputtering but was surprised when Alistair looked at him searchingly and quoted the Litany of Adralla before performing what Zevran realized was a mana cleanse. “Well, guess you’re not a demon or somebody in disguise. I _could_ be dreaming,” he pinched himself. “Nope, not dreaming.” He stood and approached the elf on the other side of his bars, “Is Janna okay? Somebody told me she was captured.” Zevran could see the muscles in his neck standing out from clenching his jaw.

 

“No, my friend, that _was_ the plan but your beautiful Pocket Goddess and a Warden Stroud defeated their efforts. He remains in Amaranthine acting on your behalf and she is safe. Now it is time to discuss your rescue. Thankfully you do not appear to be harmed, though what sort of guards are they who do not take your armor? Your weapons aren’t even locked away. They are by the door, as if waiting for you. Very shoddy,” he mocked and then explained their plan.

 

Alistair listened carefully. He didn’t say anything for several moments and Zevran could not tell what he was thinking. The walls he’d been building to keep demons and blood mages away finally allowed him to hide his feelings. Finally, the prisoner spoke, “You want to spirit me away, so to speak. If you do that, then the First can pretend I was never here and nobody could prove otherwise, no matter what I might say. That will only put the Wardens protesting on my behalf in a bad position. No. Thank you, I appreciate your coming; but I can’t make things worse for other Warden-Commanders. The First needs to be held accountable. I’m walking out through the front gate even if I have to fight my way. You said you can create a diversion . . . will it be enough?”

 

“You are truly a most difficult man,” Zevran scowled. “First, you refuse to be rescued and then you insult my abilities.”

 

“Not even Morrigan said I was easy,” Alistair replied lightly. “I’m not refusing to be rescued, just the method. Zevran, you’re a good friend who came a long way to help me; I know any resources you have must be limited. If you can’t help, I understand.”

 

“Insult upon insult, but I forgive you. I have an idea or two; I shall return. Before I go, let us see if I can teach you to pick this lock. It appears to be quite rudimentary and even your clumsy hands might be able to work it. It would be good for you to get out on your own if need be.”

 

The templar grumbled, “Now who’s dishing out insults?” But he paid close attention as Zevran worked. Finally, they both gave up in frustration; Alistair’s hands were too large to work the lock from his side without a key.

 

Zevran shook his head, “I will need to return. I must plan a different diversion, after all.” He listened at the door before cracking it open. Satisfied, he slipped out and returned to Blake and Jannasilane. But not until he did a little additional reconnoitering.

 

“How much do you trust that rangy archer of the stoic mien, oh beauteous Pocket Goddess?” was the first thing Zevran said when he reached the aerie.

 

Blake shook his head in frustration after his lover explained, “That is just so like Alistair. Moreover, I hate to say it, but he’s right. From what I know of Orlesian politics, even though Wardens are supposed to be separate, Commander Clarel would probably have to step down. She’d never be able to work with the nobles of Orlais once word got out; and the First would make sure it did.”

 

“I do not think a diversion will be a problem,” Jannasilane said softly, looking at Zevran. “That is what you meant, is it not, my pretty Zevran?”

 

“Success! At last you admit I am pretty,” he jested. “Yes, you are the best possible diversion. One of the legendary griffons comes to rescue the Hero of Ferelden from the clutches of their First? The stories, the rumors will travel to Wardens across Thedas with the speed of a griffon, if you will.”

 

“He’ll be too busy protecting his position to plan any reprisals, at least for a while,” Blake agreed with a sly grin. “Especially since he won’t have the benefit of Mistress Woolsey’s assistance.” He was pleased to see Package only flinched a little at the reminder of the woman’s death. He’d been worried after Zev told him her condition when she arrived in Denerim. “That’ll give the Grey Wardens plenty of time to protect themselves against anything he might try to do later. But we’ll think of something else if you’re not comfortable, Package.”

 

“We must get my Ali out of Weisshaupt. There is no reason to think they will connect me with the griffon. It does not matter if they do, this is truth. I came here knowing this,” she said seriously.

 

Zevran bowed and kissed her hand, “I will add a few tactical explosions. Their armory and trebuchets, I think, can be sabotaged, and some grease strategically placed on the ramparts to foil the archers. They have grown lax in their security, these Anderfels Grey Wardens. Their guards do not leave their watchtowers; they are too confident in the defensibility of their fortress. We do them a favor by reminding them to be more careful. Much as I would like to slit the First’s miserable throat, I shall endeavor to take no lives. He will be harmed more by living with failure and without being able to blame any for the deaths of his Wardens.”


	104. Time to take a Certain Warden Home

They were ready. Blake and Nathaniel argued but Blake had to agree they should switch places. Blake didn’t like being reminded that Nathaniel was the better archer and more useful from a griffon’s back, and that his former friend was less likely to be ill from the flight. He silently cursed Howe for not warning him about Nalia’s penchant for pinching her lover’s bottom. _“At least he told me they_ are _lovers,”_ he groused to himself.

 

Zevran was already making his way through the Griffonsong encampment, the Wardens were climbing the last slope to Weisshaupt’s gate, and Nathaniel was astride Jannasilane watching for Blake’s signal. She told him everything about her heritage while they waited. “My lady Mouse, I am both honored and awed. I vow to you, I will not reveal your secrets. His Majesty did not need to threaten me.”

 

“Yes, this I know, my Nate,” her voice was more guttural in griffon form. “My Blake is still struggling with issues caused by your father.”

 

“How many of us are ‘yours?’” he teased, ignoring the reference to his unfortunate sire. “I know you do not mean just those honored by a closer connection. You even claim Oghren, sometimes.”

 

He felt her shrug beneath him, “I do not know. Only those who are special to me; but I never counted. Oghren is most loyal and very kind underneath.”

 

“He hides it well,” Nathaniel answered dryly. “Look! Did you see it? Blake’s signal . . . let’s go.” He thrilled to feel her launching into the sky.

 

Inside his cell Alistair watched Zevran picking the lock. “What’s this signal we’re waiting for? What do I need to do?”

 

“Questions, questions,” Zevran mocked. “The signal will be obvious. It is designed to gain the attention of all you stalwart Grey Wardens. Then, my friend, you will walk out the front gate with your weapons and shield while I add to the distraction. You will seem most heroic, I assure you. It won’t be long.”

 

Commander Clarel stood in front of the Wardens from Orlais, the Free Marches and Antiva. The other Warden-Commanders had sent representatives but did not come themselves. “Open up. We want an explanation from the First,” her voice rang clearly in the mountain air. There was some discussion from the walls of the fortress but the gates did not open and nobody answered her directly. As per Blake’s warnings, the templars were continuously chanting the Litany of Adralla. He was putting to the test a theory he and Alistair developed during their year on the road: that multiple people chanting the Litany would be affective over a wider area just as multiple participating mages could enhance some spells. None of them wanted to be controlled by blood magic.

 

While Clarel was speaking at the gate, Blake calculated the angles, readied his bow, and notched a specially prepared arrow. He let it loose high over the heads of the protestors and parallel to the wall. As it gained altitude, colorful and sparkly ribbons unfurled, catching the light as well as attention. He barely started when he felt strong finger pinching his bottom, again.

 

“Do you dress up darkspawn with those arrows, Hot Cheeks?” Nalia asked. “Didn’t think you were the frilly type.”

 

“You’ll see,” he replied, pleased to thwart her curiosity, if not her hands.

 

First Warden Amaz was pacing in the Great Hall. Once the group started on the road that led only to Weisshaupt his spies kept him informed of their progress. Their demands at the gate only infuriated him. He was practically frothing at the mouth, “How dare they come here demanding an audience! That Clarel, I am the one who made her a Commander of the Grey. They answer my questions, I do not answer theirs.”

 

High Constable Xavier watched him without any expression. He didn’t bother saying, “I told you so.” The First was incapable of admitting he was wrong about anything. Instead, “She was a capable Warden and deserved to be the Commander of the Grey in Orlais. We agreed we could never put Nalia in charge; we needed somebody who knew how to play the Grand Game. She’s done an excellent job.” He might as well have been talking to the wall.

 

Fiona was also present. The First summoned her to discuss her visit to the prisoner but she was unable to add anything useful. She wouldn’t have, anyway. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t owe him anything, now that he had decided to turn her over to the Circle.  _“I am certainly not going to help him harm Alistair or those who come on his behalf,”_ she thought indignantly. They heard a roar overhead. “What is that? It is not a dragon,” she gasped. They ran to the balcony and looked up into the sky.

 

“Damn it, Zev, she shouldn’t be here. You know how dangerous it is,” Alistair scowled.

 

Zevran smirked, “Once you are away from Weisshaupt you may rebuke us all as you wish. I look forward to your ardent tongue-lashing.” Alistair turned red and glared at him. “But for now, I suggest you move your fine warrior ass to the gate. We do not want to keep people waiting.” Alistair grabbed his shield and stalked out, ready to draw his sword at the first provocation.

 

The Anderfels Wardens were excitedly pointing to the sky, Frick and Frack among them. “Maker, it can’t be . . .” “I thought they were extinct . . .” “Why now? Where did it come from?” “Magnificent!” Nobody noticed the large warrior striding confidently to the front until he was halfway through the gaping crowd.

 

Reactions outside the fortress were the same as those inside. Nalia turned a speculative gaze up to Blake but didn’t say anything. She did pinch him again.

 

Amaz was the first one on the balcony to notice the irritating ‘Hero of Ferelden’ walking to the gate. “Get him!” he yelled. Some of the Wardens heard him and moved towards Alistair, though not as quickly as the First would like.

 

From the sky, Jannasilane and Nathaniel watched. _“I do not think so,”_ she thought when Wardens started chasing her Alistair. “Hold on!” she shouted into the wind and climbed higher before swooping down in a nosedive. She sang her battle song over the heads of the crowd, stunning all into stillness except for her people. She circled lazily, protectively over the templar whose stride never faltered.

 

Dwarves were among the first to recover. “Open the gates!” the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden demanded, his voice crisp and firm in the mountain air. 

 

Some hesitated, but others moved quickly to obey. “If the griffons are back and on his side I’m doing what he says,” one muttered to another.

 

“Bet the First is browning his drawers,” said another.

 

“A griffon, after all this time,” Xavier watched the magnificent creature with wonder, a small smile on his face.

 

Amaz didn’t know what to do about the quandary he now faced. His people were hardly likely to attack one of the fabled griffons; and obviously, it was here for Alistair. Even the Wardens who normally obeyed him in all things were hesitating. He frowned and turned to Fiona, “Is this some sort of trick?”

 

Fiona’s ears still hurt from the griffon’s shriek. Even while she held her hands over her ears, she tracked the winged creature’s movements. She blinked when Amaz grabbed her arm and he repeated his question. Fiona shook her head, “I do not think so. If it is a trick, it is far beyond my understanding. Griffons have been gone for centuries; even a shape-shifter needs to be able to study an animal before taking its form. Perhaps you should not have been so over-bearing with young Alistair, since he must know something about it, or it wouldn’t be here now.” She never would have dared say that to his face if she were alone or still a Warden. Fiona was beginning to find her new status rather liberating.

 

“Fiona, perhaps you could go down to the yard and examine our men and the beast more closely,” Xavier said before the First could attack her. She quickly moved away.

 

“We need to kill him before he reaches the gate,” Amaz declared.

 

Xavier looked at him in disbelief, “Do you really think you can kill him while a griffon, which appeared out of legend on his behalf, does nothing? To say nothing of our own Wardens? Let him go,” he counseled. “He hasn’t given you anything useful, don’t make it worse.” He left before First Warden Amaz could order him to add folly upon folly.

 

“Follow me,” he ordered all the Grey Wardens he encountered.

 

Zevran had been watching from near the Griffonsong path. When Pocket Goddess began swooping, he lit the fuses to Alistair’s prison, among other places, and hurried through the trail. He used the commotion to cover his actions pertaining to one of the Griffonsong ‘ruins.’ That explosion was lost among the others. His part done, he watched and waited on the aerie ledge, smiling in satisfaction.

 

Commanders Nalia and Clarel stood side by side, watching the griffon and their fellow Commander. “Magnificent,” Clarel said quietly.

 

“I admit, that tall drink of water makes a pretty picture with the smoke behind him while he’s calm in the confusion,” Nalia answered appreciatively. She then looked up at her friend, “Or did you mean that golden creature above him?”

 

“Do you ever get enough?” Clarel smiled without looking away from the scene in front of her. The two women had known each other for a long time.

 

Nalia snorted, “Not yet.” They continued to wait, “Do you think the First is insane enough to try and stop him now?”

 

“I believe we shall know soon enough,” the taller woman pointed to the men coming to intercept Alistair. “If they do, we shall act,” she decided. “I was not planning on attacking Weisshaupt but I did not realize our young friend had legends on his side. It seems disrespectful not to help if we are needed, does it not?”

 

“Bet Hot Cheeks knows something,” the dwarven Commander looked around. “Where did he go?” However, with Nalia otherwise occupied, Blake was able to slip away and wait for Nathaniel so they could once again switch places.

 

High Constable Xavier and the men he gathered to him confronted Alistair before he could walk through the entrance. The two men stared at each other. Jannasilane flew closer but Alistair held up a hand, warning the griffon to hold back, and waited. Xavier noticed and lifted an eyebrow, “There are some things you did not tell me, after all.” Other Wardens saw this as well and gazed at Alistair in awe.

 

Alistair shrugged, “You didn’t ask.”

 

“No, I did not think to ask if legends were now reality. Would you have answered if I had? No matter, you are free to go.” He crossed his arms in Warden fashion, gave a shallow bow and stood aside. All the Wardens around him did the same.

 

Janna cried out in triumph from above, a call that was cut short. Alistair looked up, saw her struggling to maintain flight, and sensed magic at work. _“Sheila,”_ he cursed. He recognized that touch. He sensed the blood mage’s location and gathered up all his willpower.

 

Outside the gates the Ferelden templars sensed it and, realizing it was the Hero, followed the direction of his smite and added to it. Their smites pummeled Sheila and all mages in her vicinity into the ground. Above, Jannasilane wheeled away and out of range but not before Nathaniel sent an arrow through the foolish mage’s throat.

 

“You better go, quickly,” the High Constable very quietly suggested.

 

“Yes,” Alistair replied just as quietly and left without another glance. Above him, Jannasilane let out one more battle song and disappeared.

 

“Bring Fiona to me,” Xavier directed a nearby Warden. She was limping from the templars’ smites but moved well enough. “Fiona, how soon can you be ready to leave? It occurs to me that with Wardens and templars just outside our gates you could leave with them instead of waiting for your planned escort. Commander Clarel _is_ from Montsimmard after all. Rather convenient, don’t you think?”

 

The elven woman looked up at him, wondering if he was perhaps warning her, “A week ago I packed a smallish bag with everything I need or want to take with me. It will only take moments to retrieve.”

 

“Then you best move. I will send some or our Wardens with you until you catch up to our departing friends. Maker be with you, Grey Warden Fiona,” he left to return to the First. He wasn’t looking forward to all the damage control he had in front of him and he sincerely doubted First Warden Amaz was going to be helpful.

 

Outside the gates, friendly faces quickly surrounded Alistair, “Warden-Commander Alistair, it is good to see again,” Clarel smiled warmly. “That was quite an exit; one which will have Wardens talking for weeks, if not longer.”

 

Nalia punched him in the side, a friendly jab, “You Fereldans are trickier than you seem. I, for one, want to get out of these mountains and back to Jader. Once we’re down the road a bit you can tell us all about your visit.”

 

Alistair bowed to the two women, “I can’t believe you traveled here on my behalf,” he said loudly enough to be heard by the Wardens and templars surrounding him. “I am truly honored, humbled and grateful. I won’t forget this,” he promised. “Once we get to the first decent tavern the drinks are on me.” Some of the men cheered.

 

“Commander,” Nathaniel struggled to get through the crowd and be heard. “Commander, Amaranthine awaits,” the rogue smiled broadly.

 

“Nate, it’s good to see a face from home,” Alistair clapped the archer on the shoulder. In good spirits, the large group started down the trail, cold Weisshaupt at their backs.


	105. Changes

She paused in the act of brushing her hair and stared at herself in the mirror. She saw an attractive woman whose girlhood was far behind her, _“Hopefully not too far,”_ she grimaced. She remembered the night that brought her here, a tired and upset Jannasilane arriving with news that the Hero of Ferelden was gone, kidnapped. _“She loves him so much; I hope he has a forgiving nature because coming home will be difficult for him, for both of them.”_ She smiled ruefully; she’d hated him for some time and now she was concerned about him, though she couldn’t picture them ever being friends.

 

_She noticed that, after her odd chant about Woolsey, Jannasilane looked like she might be sick so she quickly brought her to her room. She couldn’t help being slightly amused at the idea of somebody seeing her, the queen of Ferelden, holding back a young woman’s hair as she vomited into a basin. She then handed Jannasilane a glass of rosewater, “Don’t drink it,” she cautioned, “use it to refresh your mouth. Rinse and spit . . . that’s it, even gargle to get the sour taste out of your throat. My mother taught me this when I had the flu, long before I came to court, of course.”_

_“I suppose that’s why people always think of roses around you,” Jannasilane remarked dully._

_Anora smiled a little, “I suppose you’re right. Mint water is nice too, but I prefer the rose. Do you wish to tell me what you didn’t tell the men? Something to do with Warden Stroud, perhaps?” Jannasilane jerked her head up in surprise. “I haven’t survived at court all these years by being **un** observant. I promise I won’t use whatever you tell me against either you or your Alistair; I’d like us to be friends. There are few people I can afford to be comfortable with to allow such a relationship.” She waited as Jannasilane worried her lip indecisively._

_When she spoke the words tumbled over each other, “. . . feeling lonely . . . his office late one night . . . Stroud came in . . . we . . . We came to an arrangement. He wished to burn off his desire before Alistair returned and I wished his help to uncover information. He despises me for it, or did, but not, I think, as much as I do. I don’t know if my Ali can ever forgive me,” she whispered through her tears._

_Ferelden’s queen didn’t know how to comfort her, but did her best. She took Jannasilane’s hand and let her weep for a few minutes, “Many noblewomen feel that way, that they have sold a part of themselves into marriage. Especially if they did not have any say in the matter. I knew Cailan from when we were children and I too, to a small degree, felt that way. Women do what we have to do with what’s available, and few men can comprehend the cost. I am so sorry you found yourself in such a position. From the way you speak of him this Stroud sounds like an otherwise decent man . . .” she let her voice trail off._

_“He is. Later he admitted that he realized he was angry with himself for his lapse of honor and apologized. He put himself at great risk when he stopped the Cumberlands from taking me. He believes very strongly in the Order; it would have been far easier to acknowledge their orders than to stop them.”_

_“Then I am sure Alistair will be grateful that Jean-Marc protected you when he could not. Whatever else he feels, Alistair loves you very much. Men can be ridiculously stupid about such things but I have a feeling he is not one of them. It’s up to you whether you tell him or not,” she stopped when Jannasilane shook her head, her hair whipping back and forth across her face._

_“I have no choice. I would tell him anyway, because we pledged no secrets and no lies. He would know I wasn’t telling him everything and that would hurt him worse. But,” her shoulders slumped, “even if I did not wish to speak . . . I think I’m pregnant. I was not so when he left for Montsimmard.”_

_For a moment her own worries and disappointments came crashing to the fore of her thoughts and for the first time in years she spoke without thinking, “Then maybe you should be my surrogate with Blake. Maker knows the Banns are impatient for a royal heir.” Jannasilane choked and Anora realized she spoke aloud. “I apologize, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t realize I spoke at all . . . I suppose my own worries and jealousy got the better of me.”_

_“Jealous? Of me?” Jannasilane was incredulous._

_“Is that so hard to believe? You’re so young and already with child . . . I was married for years to Cailan and now to Blake without once quickening. I pretend not to, but I see the pointed glances at my womb when they think no one is looking. Soon I will be old enough that they will look at Blake with pity and begin their political maneuvering, if they haven’t already,” she said bitterly._

_“I am sorry, Anora, your Majesty,” Jannasilane laid her head briefly against Anora’s shoulder. “I have brought my troubles to your door when you have enough of your own.” The two women were silent for a short time, thinking of their respective conditions, until Jannasilane said tentatively “You should consider Fergus. He looks much like his brother and was a father . . .” Anora glanced at her and then briskly tucked her under the covers without replying._

Strong hands plucked the hairbrush from her, “Your hair is lovely, my dear, as are you. Time for you to come to bed.” He pulled her to her feet and then just held her in his arms, inhaling her scent. “It’s just as well even we don’t know if I or my brother is the father. It will make it much easier to pretend you’re carrying my niece or nephew.”

 

“Blake will be back soon. I am sure he’ll be pleased; I was surprised really, by how much he wants a _child_ as opposed to an heir. But what about you, we’ve spoken of this before but now that it is reality . . .”

 

Fergus smiled ruefully, “I’ll be fine. Blake will be an excellent, if unusual, father; he was always wonderful with, with Oren.” He was pleased he managed to say his son’s name with only a small hesitation. He was finding it easier to remember the good times. “I’ve always admired you; when you first came to court I was infatuated with you and jealous of Cailan. You and my brother deserve to not have to worry about petty gossip and Ferelden could use a period without drama.” He sighed dramatically, “I’ll just be the doting uncle until Eamon manages to marry me off.” Thoughts of a certain pretty knight flitted across his mind.

 

She chuckled, “I am sure you don’t need Eamon to find you a bride. Promise me one thing? Be happy.” Before going to sleep, she thought of Jannasilane and Alistair, _“I hope they survive their return.”_

 

They were surviving, but no more than that. They were polite to each other after their first exuberant reunion. Fiona had caught up with him and all the Wardens who protested on his behalf when he saw the three people on the road ahead. Jannasilane had been digging in with her heels, reluctant to come forward. Alistair smiled to himself a little, remembering.

 

_“Will you excuse me, Eduardo? Something’s come up,” Alistair didn’t wait for a reply from the Antivan Warden, just began walking quickly towards the trio. He stopped a few feet away and watched her; she was no longer struggling or babbling. Instead, she was silently looking down at the ground. “Janna,” he said softly. “Janna, look at me,” but she didn’t move. “You shouldn’t have come, but, Maker, I’m glad to see you.”_

_She looked up then and swallowed, “I’m going to be sick.” She pulled away from Blake and Zevran and ran behind an outcropping of boulders away from the road._

_Alistair stared after her, eyebrow lifted, “Not the response I was hoping for or expecting. She’s not ill is she? Tell me nothing is wrong with my Janna,” he demanded with a mild look of panic._

_“Hey, Package will be fine. She’s been under a lot of stress and worn herself out with worry. Alistair, a lot happened in Amaranthine while you were gone. It wasn’t any easier for her,” Blake warned._

_The templar took a breath to answer but Jannasilane returned then, looking a little pale but steadier, “I will tell you later, my Ali, when we can talk privately,” she promised softly. Like lightning, her entire demeanor changed and she rushed forward, half-tackling him and half-jumping into his arms, making him stagger back a few steps until he steadied himself. He locked his arms around her as she locked her lips on his in a desperate kiss. Then, in another mercurial shift, she began pounding him on the shoulders and yelling, “Stupid, stupid man! How could you get yourself kidnapped? I was so afraid you were going to be killed,” she ended on a whisper. Jannasilane began peppering his face with soft kisses before burying her face against his neck while sobs of relief shook her._

_“Shh,” Alistair whispered soothingly. He stroked her hair and back, simply grateful to be able to hold her again. “It’s over now; I’m safe, you’re safe, Amaranthine still stands. It does, doesn’t it?” he tried to tease her out of her mood. She nodded against him, feeling foolish after her erratic outburst. “Then let’s join the others and go home.”_

 

Soon the walls he was so used to building against people began to make it hard to connect to his friends and lover; there always seemed to be that invisible distance. Her news didn’t help. _“I’m glad Fiona was with us. Between her lessons in cursing,”_ he still shook his head over Janna’s odd request to Clarel and Nalia, _“and Fiona’s stories about Duncan, it was easy to pretend to others that nothing was wrong. Funny that Fiona also knew Maric.”_

 

Stroud strode toward the Warden-Commander’s office to give his report. _“Thank the Maker he has returned. I still find it hard to believe that the First would act so aggressively toward one of our own. The little girl should be relieved that he is returned, but something is not right,”_ just thinking of Jannasilane caused his manhood to stir and he once again felt the familiar mixed emotions of desire and disdain. No matter how close they became before she left, no matter that he knew he was wrong, he was unable to shake completely a disappointed contempt for their shared weakness. _“I had better be careful. The Warden-Commander may understand other people finding her attractive but it can do no good for him to learn that . . . no. At least in my thoughts I can be honest. I missed her when she was gone. I miss her in my bed and miss the talks we had. We may have been weak but I told her things I’ve told no one else. It hurts knowing that I will only be able to desire her from a distance and any feelings I have must remain secret from all others. Perhaps I will ask for a transfer once all is back to normal . . .”_ He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and knocked on the office door. He waited a beat and entered.

 

Alistair was tired in body and soul. It took all the time traveling from Weisshaupt to Amaranthine before he was finally able to break down some of the protective walls he built in Weisshaupt. As for the rest, he could only hope time was the great healer it was supposed to be. He and Jannasilane . . . he didn’t know how to fix that. She’d closed off a part of herself from him and he suspected the man entering his office was one cause. “Have a seat, Stroud,” he waited. “Before you give me your report I want you to know that Jannasilane has been completely honest with me about your r-relationship while I was gone,” he was proud that only a slight stutter gave away his discomfort. He didn’t miss the flash of desire, disdain, regret and something else, _“Andraste’s breath, he’s at least half in love with her. Well, hell.”_ He rubbed the bridge of his nose while he thought.

 

Stroud struggled to maintain his composure. He hadn’t expected her to tell the Commander about their affair of convenience. He might not have to ask for that transfer.

 

“Stroud . . . Jean-Marc, before we get into official business I have some questions. I’m asking man-to-man, not Commander-to-Warden. Is the contempt you feel directed solely towards Jannasilane?”

 

The man on the other side of the desk squirmed like a little boy being scolded by the Revered Mother. Alistair just waited. Stroud decided to speak frankly; there seemed no point in doing otherwise, “No, no it’s not. She is your woman and I tried to push away the desire I felt for her the moment I saw her. Some boundaries should be sacrosanct and I crossed this one. May I be completely honest?” he waited for Alistair to nod, “You are a man of great integrity, you don’t chase everything in a skirt and yet you remain with a woman who is incapable of being faithful. I do not understand.” The silence in the room was quite loud.

 

Finally, Alistair answered him. “You’ve already proven your discretion; I don’t think anybody else has a clue about the two of you. Except maybe Varel and Nathaniel and there are reasons why . . . anyway. What I’m about to tell you must go no farther. It must remain a secret even to other Wardens or my Janna will be hurt.”

 

“I have no wish to cause her or you any distress. Certainly recent events do not incline me towards automatic trust even of my fellow Wardens,” Stroud grimaced as he said the last. He knew word of Alistair’s abduction was sent to other Warden outposts and many were considering Ferelden’s example of declaring their autonomy from Weisshaupt.

 

“First, you should know that Jannasilane and I both would prefer a more traditional arrangement. She won’t marry me because of what I’m about to tell you. It involves blood and other magics long before she was born,” Alistair didn’t go into many details; those were for Jannasilane to tell if she wished. “. . . unfortunately her worst fears were realized and she also has this unnaturally strong desire, even need, for the . . . umm . . . touch of a Warden.” Even now, he could still blush.

 

“Humph,” Stroud was skeptical. “So you believe that she would go insane if she doesn’t have sex with a Warden? Forgive me, Commander, but that seems far-fetched.”

 

“That’s what I thought when she finally told me, told us, a long time ago. I did not react well,” Alistair brooded on the harm he did to his beloved. “Blake and I were the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden, we hadn’t met Riordan yet, and I was a complete novice with women. I questioned her feelings and even my own. I, I hurt her, badly. Shortly afterwards, she left me and we didn't see each other for several weeks. When Blake and I found her, she was in bad shape. She’d lost weight; her eyes were haunted and sunk in her skull from lack of sleep. Her arms were scarred where she had gouged herself in an effort to hold onto her control, her sense of self.” He paused and caught his breath, “Even now I know when the Need is riding her, she holds herself like so,” he aped her actions. “Anyway . . . during our separation I realized how very much I loved her. I didn’t want anyone else. When I saw her again, well, if the price of being with her meant a more unconventional relationship then . . .” he shrugged. During Alistair’s recital, Stroud was remembering that first night. She’d been holding herself just as the Commander described and later, when she threw the shirt she was wearing into the fire, she looked so sad.

 

“It hurts her, you know. Whenever the Beast, as she calls it, is riding her and my Wardenness is not enough . . . we’ve invited another to our bed. This happened more often when we were first together, as you can guess. There were nights after I returned from my turn on guard duty to see she’d cried herself to sleep for what she sees as her failure. She’s suffering now. Not just for me, for us, but for you. I know my Janna.” Alistair hesitated and decided to say no more. He sat back in his chair and watched Stroud carefully.

 

Stroud frowned, it was so hard to believe and yet it explained many things. Most of their nights together started with comparing notes and discussing how it fit her theory. Soon they began to learn more about each other on a personal level and he found her charming. She never found him dour though he knew that was the common opinion. When it came to sex, however, she was oddly reluctant to get started but he certainly couldn’t complain about her as a lover. She was responsive and giving and . . . then there were the other times when he barely had a chance to lock the door behind him before she was all over him, almost desperate. He frowned and looked over at his Commander as a thought struck him, “Does this mean her desire was false? Or more accurately not hers? Howe and Anders . . .  were they also?”

 

Alistair sighed, only Blake knew how uncomfortable he was with conversations like this. He swallowed, “You are going to have to ask her that question. We discussed approaching you . . . so obviously she liked you and thought you were attractive and I’m not repulsed. One of the compromises we worked out was trying to figure out who would be discreet, who might be interested in sometimes joining us, as well as who we would both be willing to share a bed with. More importantly, we both had to feel we could trust them. I don’t want to be with a man that way, but you can’t have three without there being some, erm, contact. We'd at least spoken to Nathaniel and Anders. I’m not going into any details. This is strange enough,” he muttered.

 

“Howe talks less than a dead oyster, but Anders and discretion? That seems a contradiction,” Stroud answered.

 

“Anders talks a lot but his chatter covers the fact that there is a lot of non-information,” Alistair observed. He straightened; it was past time to move on to official business. “Warden Stroud, all the reports I have gathered prove to me that you were more than capable as acting Commander. Nor were you complicit in the conspiracy against me or the actions against Anders and Riordan. One of the reasons Woolsey was so successful is that Nathaniel has been in charge of Soldier’s Peak until I need him. What seemed logical at the time is no longer good enough. Instead of one second, I want three that will rotate between here and the Keep. Never again will either outpost lack leadership. I would like you to be one of my rotating seconds.”

 

Stroud was stunned. He’d been expecting a reprimand at the very least; then a transfer upon learning Alistair knew everything. “C-commander, I don’t know what to say,” his mind went blank.

 

Alistair carefully kept his expression neutral but inside he was filled with dark amusement, “I don’t want your answer right now. You need to think about it and you need to speak to Jannasilane.” When Stroud hesitated, he narrowed his eyes, “Consider it an order if that makes it easier for you. She’s up in her tower.” Stroud nodded curtly and left the room. Alone again, Alistair turned to look out the window. He was committed now, whatever Stroud decided. He cursed the First and the late Woolsey for their actions. He prayed they rotted somewhere tortured by demons and darkspawn.

 

Stroud slowly walked to the North tower. He was thinking about everything he’d learned and the generous offer of the Warden-Commander. He was no fool. Alistair was a proud man, deservedly so; the conversation and the offer couldn’t have been easy for him. Did he want to stay with the Fereldan order? There was only one thing making him hesitate, one woman rather. If he stayed, he would continue to see her without touching her. Perhaps they would further develop their friendship but . . . he knew he couldn’t join them in any intimate activity. He was surprised at how much it hurt that she was no longer available to him. She never lied about her feelings for the Commander even though at the time he questioned the depth of those feelings. He stopped halfway up the tower as a thought struck him, _“If what the Commander said is true, does this mean I raped her, my little girl?”_ he felt sick at the thought.

 

Jannasilane huddled in her cloak and stared out into the night. The bright moon cast a clear silver light on the Keep; another time she would have found it romantic but tonight she felt cold. She hadn’t felt warm since leaving for Weisshaupt. Every day she thanked the Maker that they were able to save her Ali and that he was home once again. Nevertheless, she felt a chasm widening between them, one she couldn’t close. He deserved so much more than she could give him and now she carried another man’s child. She wrapped her cloak more closely around her.

 

“Little girl,” Stroud quietly called.

 

She whirled around and just stood there, staring at him as he approached her. “J-jean-Marc, what are you doing here?”

 

“I’ve been speaking to the Commander. He told me about your . . . your Warden condition and I started to wonder. Did I rape you?” he asked hesitantly. It was the first time she’d seen him unsure about anything, even when he first doubted there was a conspiracy. The pain in his expression reached her through her fog of depression and guilt.

 

“R-rape me? Oh no, no Jean. I know what rape feels like,” she shuddered at the memories of Fort Drakon. She blinked and took a breath to steady herself, “You didn’t do . . . that. You’re not capable. No more than my Ali. You are a good man and an attractive one and . . . and I’m glad it was you who came to me that night,” She put her hand on his arm and looked up at him, trying to convince him.

 

Stroud stared down at her, searching for answers. Finally he was satisfied, “I am relieved, but I still owe you an apology, little girl. I did not think well of you, and you did not deserve my disdain. I am truly sorry.”

 

Jannasilane withdrew and gathered her cloak around her, “Why should you? I love my Ali and I still . . . would you have even believed me?” She turned away from him and walked to the edge of the tower. Her shoulders sagged, “maybe I am just the Wardens’ whore as Morrigan said.”

 

Stroud almost didn’t hear her whisper. Angrily he grabbed her by the arm and whirled her around to face him. He shook her, “Don’t you dare say that! You may be right; I wouldn’t have believed you then. That is my lack and not yours. Ah, little girl,” his voice softened and he brought her into his embrace, “Fate was not kind in passing this curse to you but I believe that perhaps balance has been somewhat restored by bringing to you a man who loves you and is willing to help you deal with this ‘Beast’ of yours. The Commander is a good man and I respect no one more. I am quite fond of you, little girl, and want you to be happy,” as he held her crying in his arms he realized both were true. He would always desire her, for she was a most desirable woman, but he was willing to be nothing more than her friend. He knew he could never deal with her condition as the Commander did. He kissed the top of her head, “Dry your tears, little girl. I will treasure the time we were together as I treasure little else. The Warden-Commander is a most unusual man,” he waited for her to quiet down and pay attention to his words. “He offered me the position as one of his rotating seconds but if it will be easier for you I will ask for a transfer instead. Or perhaps a permanent assignment to Soldier’s Peak.”

 

Jannasilane stepped back and looked at him, her eyes wide and moist. She sniffed, “He did that?  I see,” she mused as she considered this turn of events. “I don’t want you to transfer on my account, Jean-Marc. Your decision must be your decision but first there is something you should know,” she bit her lower lip as she thought on her words. “I was pregnant when I left to rescue my Ali.”

 

Stroud stifled the envy that flared up at her news, “I offer you and the Commander my congratulations. This is happy news for Vigil’s Keep.”

 

She snorted and raised an eyebrow, “I did not say I was pregnant when _he_ left the Vigil. I would think you would have noticed the changes. No, Jean-Marc, everyone else will know my Ali as the father of my child but you deserve the truth.”

 

He stopped her before she could go on, “You mean I, I am going to be a father?” She nodded and stood still while he tenderly removed her cloak so he could see the changes in her. He studied her carefully from head to toe; her breasts were fuller and her waist thicker. Very carefully, he laid his hand over her abdomen and was overwhelmed at the life he sensed inside. For the first time since he was a small boy tears trickled down his face. He moved his hand to the side of her face and gently stroked her cheek, “You have given me the greatest of gifts, little girl. If you do not mind, I would like to take the Warden-Commander up on his offer. I will tell him in the morning when we meet again.” He replaced her cloak and frowned, “you should not be up here in the cold. Allow me to escort you down to the Commander.”

 

Jannasilane felt some of the weight she’d been carrying lift from her shoulders. Her lips quirked a bit at the care Stroud displayed, as if she were made of glass and had never fought darkspawn or dragons. Or been an active participant in some rather strenuous lovemaking. Of course, at first Alistair treated her the same way when he heard the news. She sighed, _“It is so like my Ali to not send Jean-Marc away but give him an opportunity to watch his child grow up. He is the most wonderful, generous of men.”_ She practically started skipping.

 

Her drastic mood change startled Stroud. He hoped the Warden-Commander had the healer look at her. For the first time he actually missed Anders. The current man was decent, he supposed, but did not approach the level of Anders’ abilities. He hoped that soon they would recruit some good healers from the Circle. He would be sure to mention that when he met with Alistair in the morning. Once again, he knocked on his Commander’s door before entering, “Commander, I have a delivery for you. Congratulations, you are a fortunate man.” he then turned once more to Jannasilane, “Take care of yourself, little girl. Until the morrow,” he gave a slight bow and left the room, closing the door behind him.

 

For a moment, the inhabitants just looked at each other. Cautiously, Alistair spoke first, “I see you told him about the baby.”

 

With a slight cry Jannasilane jumped forward and into his arms, raining kisses all over his face, “You are the most wonderful of men, my Ali. I love you so very much.”

 

_“Thank you, Maker,”_ Alistair prayed silently and held her against him. “I love you Jannasilane Alenahaella. I’ve missed you.” He held her face in his hands, caressing her face with his thumbs and gently kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her as the kiss deepened. He picked her up without breaking their kiss and made his way to their bedchamber. He kicked the door closed behind them before carefully laying her on the bed. She moaned as he undressed her and laved the exposed skin with his tongue. He stopped when she cried out, “is anything wrong, my love?” He held his breath as he waited for her answer.

 

She blushed, “N-no, it’s just that m-my n-nipples are more s-sensitive than before.”

 

He licked them and smiled wolfishly when she arched beneath him, “they taste different as well. I wonder what other changes I’ll find.”

 

“You are a wicked, wicked man, my Ali,” she smiled at him.

 

“I am a very grateful man,” he corrected. “I love you, always.” He placed his hand on her growing belly, “I love you and the family we are creating. We’ll work out any problems or unusual circumstances together. You saved me on the road to Lothering. I am blessed because you are in my life.”

 

Moved to tears, something that came more easily these days, she traced his lips and framed his face in her small hands, “I feel that I am the one blessed, my Ali. I love you, always.” They spent the night renewing their commitment to each other.


	106. Aftermath of Anger

He stared at the vast night sky, seeking . . . something. He was so angry. He woke up angry and went to bed angry. He ate but found it hard to swallow through his anger. He was angry at everyone and everything. He was angry at no one and nothing. He was angry every time he spoke to one of the people in his arling and had to pretend nothing was wrong. He was angry every time he saw Ser Mhairi handling the Warden accounts and thought of the deeds perpetrated by her predecessor. He was angry every time he communicated with Soldier’s Peak and it wasn’t with Riordan. He was angry every time he looked at the woman he adored, big with the child that _should_ have been theirs. He was angry every time one of his people was injured and he didn’t have a healer for them. He was angry that he was so damn tired of being angry and couldn’t find a way to stop. He was angry at the distance between him and Jannasilane. He was angry it was mostly his fault.

 

For a while after his return things were good. He was happy not to have to explain anything to the nobles; Stroud had done well and they accepted the explanation that, with the darkspawn situation resolved, he had to take care of some Grey Warden business. He was relieved to be home with his beloved Janna and didn’t even mind all the Arl stuff he had to do. He couldn’t say exactly when the anger began to build. Was it the first time she had a nightmare about being a prisoner in Fort Drakon? Did it begin when he had to ask the Circle for another healer? Was it when he tracked down Morrigan and she disappeared through the Eluvian after telling him his son was fine? Did it start when Stroud left to do something for his previous Commander, or when he returned with a new recruit and news of Anders? Maybe it had been present all along, ever since he was kidnapped, just hiding behind his relief at being home. He didn’t know anymore.

 

He tried to get rid of it. If only he could hit someone but there weren’t even any darkspawn or bandits reports to investigate; unfortunately his people had done their job too well. He was afraid to spar with his men; afraid his anger might take over. He stopped being intimate with his beloved, afraid that if he let go in passion he’d lose control over his anger. He was afraid of causing Janna to miscarry again and finally succumbed to Terry’s advances. She liked rough play but he flushed with shame when he remembered how he carelessly pounded into her; even at the time, he knew it was wrong and wouldn’t help but he was so desperate to let go he took the chance. Now he could hardly look at the woman. Another person in his position might have forced a transfer, but that wasn’t his way. To her credit, she didn’t take much convincing to realize it was a mistake. Unfortunately, Janna knew. Guilt and shame compounded his anger.

 

At Soldier’s Peak Nathaniel was worried. He compared the most recent communication from his Commander to earlier ones. Alistair’s writing practically tore through the paper; it didn’t take an expert to see that he was angry. This time Stroud added a letter of his own, asking him for advice.

 

_“. . . even when he looks at his lady there is such anger in him that he cannot hide. It has been building since he returned. Not for the first time, I regret I was so blind to what was happening but what was done cannot be undone. I fear if your friend cannot find a way to purge himself of the poison inside him he will do something for which he will never forgive himself. He is a good man; we have to help him if we can so I ask you for advice since you have known him longer than I._

_Please contact me soon, Jean-Marc Stroud.”_

 

He made his decision. He gathered some papers, packed a few things and checked his bow before finding his second. “Saykor, I have to go to Denerim and then Amaranthine. Make sure the recruits practice their archery; I want them at least to be within a few feet of their target. I don’t think Levi has recovered yet.”

 

Saykor snorted, “He got as white one of those Fade spirits of you humans. Is something wrong with the Commander or Reynita?” The dwarf’s respect for Alistair was huge and the First’s betrayal cut the human deeply. There was literally nothing Saykor wouldn’t do for the man.

 

“I don’t know. I hope not.” Nathaniel knew how much Saykor admired their Warden-Commander and that the dwarf was as tight-lipped as Zevran was flirtatious, “Stroud is . . . concerned. I am going to ask His Majesty for advice and then see for myself. If it is nothing then I’ll lie and say that my nephew is sick.”

 

“That’ll be a fun meeting. Have you spoken more than a handful of words to each other since you returned to Ferelden?”

 

Warden-Constable Howe smiled mirthlessly, “I will let you know when I plan to return.” Saykor frowned into the fire after he left.

 

On the road to Denerim, Nathaniel decided it made more sense to contact Zevran instead of Blake. He was confident the Antivan would at least listen to him, which was more than he might get from His Majesty. Thankfully, he didn’t have to deal with any potential recruits at the Warden compound. He sent a message to the assassin and waited in the Gnawed Noble Tavern. “You do not look happy, stoic one. Perhaps you have been pining for my sparkling company and sexy body,” Zevran slid into the booth across from him.

 

“I don’t pine,” Nathaniel answered, _“though I won’t mind seeing Sigrun again.”_ He pushed two letters to the other side of the table, “Alistair needs our help, Stroud sent a letter and if he is worried . . .”

 

“This writing speaks for itself,” Zevran responded gravely. “The hot rage practically rises from the paper. Alistair has a right to be angry at many things, but this is a festering wound. The lovely Reynita must be devastated,” he frowned. “I think it is past time some friends visited him. Drink up; we go to see His majesty.”

 

Anora was relieved to see Zevran and Nathaniel. She and her husband were allies, more often agreeing on the direction to steer Ferelden than not, and fast becoming friends. Her pregnancy strengthened the bond between them, but Blake reacted in ways she couldn’t foresee. _“He hovers like a broody, mother hen. I can’t sit down without him making sure it is the most comfortable chair. I find it irritating but other women swoon and men smile indulgently,”_ she was torn between gratitude and annoyance at his concern. Behind his lover’s back, Zevran winked outrageously at her. He alone, other than Erlina, seemed to understand her moods much better than her husband did and was quite willing to distract him.

 

“Your beauteous blooming Majesty, I bring to you a distraction from the attentions of your husband. I found this sternly attractive Grey Warden sitting alone at the Gnawed Noble and thought it a shame to waste his strong, stoic self in a dark tavern,” he smiled at Anora while Blake struggled not to scowl. Even after their efforts at Weisshaupt, he found it difficult to be in the same room as Nathaniel.

 

Nathaniel bowed, “This is the first time I’ve ever been called a distraction. Your Majesty, I do not wish to intrude on your good nature. I wished to consult Master Arainai on a private matter.”

 

“I may not know Zevran as well as my husband does but I do know he would not have brought you here just for a little social repartee,” she answered drily, with a slight gleam of amusement at that husband’s annoyance. Zevran grinned in appreciation. “Pray sit down and tell us what troubles you,” she indicated a chair. _“And please let it not be too serious, just enough to give Blake something to do other than cater to whims I don’t even have.”_ She maintained an expression of mild inquiry.

 

Blake stopped scowling and both royals grew concerned as Nathaniel talked. “I don’t like the sound of this at all. Alistair is not an angry person; I’ve seen him sulk, I’ve seen him pout but generally, he is an optimistic, sunny kind of guy. And Stroud says he’s angry with Package?”

 

“Angry when he looks at her,” Nathaniel corrected, “I don’t know if that’s the same thing as being angry with Mouse. It’s not good either way. The connection between them is so strong . . . if he damages that neither one will recover.”

 

“Nor will it be good for the Arling or the Wardens if he doesn’t get this rage under control. Would you excuse us, Nathaniel?” Anora waited until the Warden bowed and left the room. “Is he angry because he’s not the father?” she bluntly asked. “Don’t be so surprised, she told me before you left for the Anderfels. Do you think he might hurt her?”

 

Blake instantly shook his head, “Not a chance. Not deliberately. I’m sure his anger is an aftermath of what happened, and Package’s pregnancy might be a part of it, but he would cut off his arms and legs before doing something to her.”

 

“I hope you are right, husband. I think you and Zevran should go to Amaranthine with Nathaniel and see for yourselves.”

 

“I can’t leave you alone,” Blake protested. “What if something happens to you or the baby?”

 

“She is hardly alone, my dear Warden,” Zevran reminded him, “In addition to Wynne of the magical bosom, an entire castle is waiting eagerly for her to drop a spoon just so they can pick it up on her behalf.”

 

Anora smiled, “I wouldn’t go as far as that, but he’s correct.” Her smile faded, “I respect Alistair and like Jannasilane; she is one of the most refreshing people I know. They’re both very important to you and you will only fret if you stay here.” She added the clinching argument, “She’s my friend and she may be in trouble. She’s so close to her time; I am worried about her and trust you to prevent anything bad from happening to her. Vigil’s Keep is hardly on the other side of Thedas.”

 

“In other words, get out of your hair and leave you in peace for a few days. I know I’ve been irritating you, with my rather excessive concerns for your comfort,” he surprised his wife and his lover with the acknowledgement. He shook his head, “Very well, you’re right on all counts. If you’re sure you and Ferelden can do without me,” he raised an eyebrow at her, “I’ll leave now. I’ll be back as soon as I can, so enjoy your peace while it lasts.” He placed his hand on the life growing inside of her for a few moments before leaving.

 

Fergus was in Amaranthine, dining with Ser Mhairi. He poured some more wine, “Isn’t your replacement doing well, my dear? You are lovely as ever,” he enjoyed making her blush, “but you seem rather distracted.” After Alistair returned to Amaranthine, she visited Highever to retrieve a few items. Fergus used that opportunity to suggest they meet in the City of Amaranthine for dinner. Now they met regularly, slowly expanding on the friendship started when he was tutoring her in the necessary art of bookkeeping. He reached across the table and took her hand in his.

 

Mhairi sighed, “Perhaps. I admit I am a bit worried about the Commander and Lady J. He seemed fine when they returned from Weisshaupt but now . . . now I sense a rage he struggles to control. He tries to pretend he’s the same, but she is worried, which means Brody, our healer, is worried. Stroud is also concerned.”

 

“We can’t expect him to be the same as he was before,” the Teyrn said gently. “He may not have been physically tortured or abused, but that sort of betrayal changes a man.”

 

She found comfort in the way he held her hand, firm but gentle. She sighed again, “I wish it were just that. But sometimes, sometimes it seems he can’t even stay in the same room with Lady J. He may not mean to but he’s hurting her. I know pregnant women,” she blushed slightly to be talking about such a personal topic, “can be more emotional but she’s all over the place. Between Stroud’s abilities and Alistair’s reputation, we aren’t having any trouble recruiting but earlier this week she was so difficult and bossy that a number of new recruits were ready to leave. Later that same day she apologized. She was so upset by her behavior, and worried that she hurt them that she was in tears. Those same recruits practically fell over themselves to get her a chair, or water, anything to calm her down and show her there were no hard feelings.” Mhairi shook her head, she couldn’t help a slight smile, she had a hunch it would be one of _those_ stories. “I think they would now follow her into the Fade, even if she didn’t ask. Even Carver, the young man Stroud brought back from Kirkwall, is devoted to her, and I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody with a bigger chip on his shoulder. He teases her constantly and they bicker like brother and sister.”

 

“No wonder Zevran calls her Reynita, the little queen,” Fergus smiled at her. He liked holding her hand; it was strong with a few calluses such as a warrior would have but still soft like a woman. Any decent man would be proud to have the hand of such a woman at his side. “Package has a lot of passion for such a small person.”

 

“‘I’m not little,’” they quoted in unison and smiled at each other.

 

Mhairi’s smile faded, “I hope I’m wrong, but . . .” 

 

 Fergus frowned, “If you like, I’ll talk to him. All of you, except Package, are under his command. No matter how friendly you are he may be reticent to discuss what’s troubling him with you, but I’m a friend and practically family; I’ll play the big brother card. Maybe he just needs an outside ear, so to speak.”

 

“Thank you, Fergus,” she said softly. “I think if anybody can reach him, you can.”

 

“You have such faith in me, my dear,” he kissed her hand, charmed when she blushed. “I ask one thing of you, that you stay the night in the city and ride with me to Vigil’s Keep. Separate rooms, of course. I will not tarnish a lady’s reputation. I haven’t been to the Vigil yet and the first time will be easier with you at my side.”

 

Back at Vigil’s Keep, Stroud was frustrated. Alistair tried to be the same person he was before he was forced to the Anderfels, but the anger boiling inside him was coming closer to the surface. Even Oghren could see that and was concerned. He almost wished for something to happen so that the warrior could pummel a guilty someone without worrying about hurting anyone else but the Commander had trained his men so well that the Arling was the envy of many. Stroud even suggested Alistair take some of the recent Wardens to the Korcari Wilds but Alistair glared at him and said he wasn’t going to leave with Janna so close to her time. He rather thought the persistent Terry managed to get him into bed once but if so, it didn’t help, if anything the Commander was angrier. Somebody was going to get hurt if Alistair didn’t find a way to purge his anger soon and he didn’t know if he could afford to wait for Nathaniel.

 

Finally, the morning came when Stroud knew he couldn’t wait any longer. Something had to be done, now. Alistair had just caused one of the servants to cry, he apologized and when she left he hit the stone wall so hard he must have broken bones. He found their new healer, “Enchanter Brody, will you please go to the small sparring room and wait for me? It is time to do something about our Commander.”

 

Brody heaved a sigh of relief, “I’m glad somebody has an idea. I’m worried about the Arl-Commander and Reynita. I don’t like to see her so stressed; it isn’t good for either her or the baby. Lady Isolde’s suggestions help but can only go so far.”

 

“Yes, the little girl was surprised to see her but I think she was grateful for the diversion,” Stroud remarked. _“Thankfully, Alistair was somewhere on a mission for His Majesty. Little girl told me enough of his background that I fear relations with the Arl would be permanently damaged if the Commander and Lady Isolde were in the same room.”_ He changed from his metal armor to his thickest leathers before seeking out Alistair.

 

He found Alistair hunkered down in his office, brooding out the window. Stroud was glad to see the man wasn’t wearing any armor, “Commander, you are needed in the small sparring room.”

 

“What is it? Why can’t you handle it?” Alistair scowled at his second.

 

“I think it best you see for yourself, I’m not sure I can explain it properly,” Stroud replied. He left, a grumbling Commander at his heels. The minute they stepped into the room, Brody closed the door behind them.

 

Alistair looked around, “I don’t see anything -” and staggered back when Stroud hit him. His eyes flashed dangerously as he blocked the next swing. He sprang at the smaller man when Stroud connected with a solid punch to his ribcage. His control quickly left him and the battle was on. Stroud was grateful for the healer’s presence, Alistair was even stronger and faster than he expected. Rage ruled the young warrior as he struck blow after punishing blow.

 

Stroud said nothing at first, waiting until some of the blind rage passed, “This is for your own good, Alistair.” He grunted and hit back, “Your rage, your anger has to stop before you hurt yourself or the little girl anymore.”

 

“You’re in love with her,” he snarled. Anger allowed him to ignore the pain and bruises inflicted by the former chevalier.

 

“As are you,” Stroud gasped back. He dodged a blow and momentarily restrained Alistair, “You, however, are the man she wants and deserves.” Alistair broke away and began hitting once again. Mostly Stroud defended himself; he fought just enough to make sure Alistair didn’t stop.

 

Blake, Zevran and Nathaniel arrived. “Seneschal Varel, we need to see the Warden-Commander,” Nathaniel spoke for the three of them.

 

Varel didn’t know what to do, he had strict orders not to interfere, but he didn’t expect the king to show up, “Your Majesty,” he kneeled, “I regret to say that Arl Warden-Commander Alistair is in the small sparring room and can’t be disturbed.”

 

Blake’s mouth quirked, “You can’t disturb him, but I can. What small sparring room?” Nathaniel explained that it used to be his father’s private armory collection. “Nate, I think it’s better if you _don’t_ come with us. Too many people might be counter-productive, and he can’t do much to me since I’m the king.” As he left he muttered to himself, “I hope.”

 

The king and his security advisor heard the sounds of scuffling long before they reached the sparring room. “No guards or servants,” Blake noted before opening the door. “Payback’s a bitch,” he murmured before tackling Alistair.

 

Zevran snorted, “But for whom, I wonder.” He sidled around to Brody’s side, “Is there some reason the big, handsome templar is beating up the Warden with the magnificent mustache?”

 

Brody was maintaining a low level of healing energy directed to Stroud, “Warden Stroud’s idea.” He winced when Alistair knocked Blake’s head back. “He said Alistair needed to purge his anger before somebody got hurt, though I think he really meant Reynita, I mean Lady J.” They continued talking and staying out of the way.

 

Zevran sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to use his daggers on Alistair when he saw his lover take another hard blow. “You do know spells other than healing ones, I trust?”


	107. New Arrival

Fergus stopped their horses a short distance from the gates, “I didn’t often visit Nathaniel; he usually came to us. I remember the structure well enough but the atmosphere is far from what I recall.” The Howe crest was gone and Grey Warden banners waved alongside the Amaranthine insignia. The Keep used to have an air of neglect, Rendon Howe preferred the capital of Denerim, but now Fergus could see pride of ownership. Even through the debris from rebuilding, he saw well-maintained walls. The courtyard gates were wide open and a couple of merchants were doing brisk trade before traveling on to the city. Servants walked with pride and without fear of being accosted or beaten. “Is it my imagination or do the outer walls actually sparkle?”

 

Ser Mhairi smiled, “One of Lady J’s projects. She had an idea that lemonweed and other ingredients might stop at least some pests from getting in. I don’t know if it works, but everybody was willing to indulge her. Alistair and Stroud both forbade her to work in her garden when she complained about not seeing her feet. The Warden-Commander didn’t endear himself to his lady when he warned her that if she fell she’d be as helpless as a turtle on its back.”

 

Teyrn Cousland grinned, “Things can’t be all bad if Alistair is tactful as ever. Let’s go.”

 

Jannasilane, up in her ‘aerie,’ was unaware of all the arrivals below. She was reading one of the journals Zevran rescued from the old Griffonsong ruins. He gave them to her after they reached Ferelden to make sure the other Wardens didn’t see. She didn’t understand some of them, or even know what language they were written in. Maybe one day she and Ali could search for other possible Griffonsong. Her smile faded when she thought of Alistair; he was so angry and she didn’t know how to reach him. It hurt every time he looked at the child growing within her; he seemed to get even angrier. She worried that rage would cause him to do something he would always regret, even more than he regretted his encounter with Terry.

 

“My Ali, Jean-Marc, Varel, even Oghren would be annoyed if they knew I was up here. If they find out, well, it is the last time until my baby is born,” she sighed; she was finding it more and more difficult to climb the ladder. Carefully she locked the journal in the chest with the others and made sure everything was in order. She didn’t want to stop coming. It was the only place she could be alone and didn’t have to pretend that everything was fine. She didn’t even bring Nugflutter up with her. Nobody could see her if she cried or threw things. She was so moody and temperamental these days that, on one of his visits, Zevran called her Reynita, a nickname that gained currency with many at the Vigil. She tried to rub her back, the uncomfortable twinges she’d felt all morning was one of the reasons she decided to stop coming to her little refuge.

 

Minutes later Jannasilane was on the floor, gasping for breath. She thought she heard voices calling for her and tried to respond. The discomfort she ignored all morning was actually the first stages of labor. The sharp pain that brought her to her knees took her by surprise. The trap door opened. She looked up in panic when she saw Nathaniel, “Nate, I think . . . the baby, it’s early . . . help me.”

 

Nathaniel was worried but also fascinated by the way the contractions rippled through her entire body, like waves across the Amaranthine Ocean. He lifted her in his arms and she latched onto him, nearly choking him.

 

Fergus poked his head through the trapdoor entrance; his eyes widened with concern when he saw her wet gown, “Her water broke. We need to get her down.” He noticed the death grip she had on the archer. “I’ll go down and you follow. I’ll guide you and help support you until we can get her to her room.”

 

“Thank you,” Nathaniel breathed. He smiled encouragingly at the not-so-small woman holding onto him, “Don’t worry, my lady Mouse, you and the pup will be fine. Fergus and I are here.” Carefully, the two men worked together and settled her on her bed. She wouldn’t, or couldn’t, let go of the rogue.

 

“Where is my Ali? Jean-Marc?” she panted as pain wracked her body.

 

“I’ll find your healer and Alistair,” Fergus bowed over her hand and kissed it. He looked at his former friend and frowned a little at the concern he saw in those grey eyes. He quickly left.

 

Brody watched in awe as the Hero of Ferelden returned blow after blow without slowing down. The three men were bruised and bloodied, but showed no signs of stopping. Beside him, the Antivan Crow was watching closely while commenting on the action, “Such a fine sight is it not, to see three excellent examples of manhood in their primal glory. Ooh, another blow from the Hero to the senior Warden. Now His most attractive Majesty sidesteps a jab intended for his pretty face and the magnificent mustache takes advantage to deliver a blow of his own.”

 

None of the occupants, save Zevran, saw Fergus enter with Varel and some servants until Fergus threw the first of several buckets of cold water over the combatants. The three men were surprised into inaction and gaped at the Teyrn of Highever. Fergus shook his head at them, “Look at the three of you, brawling like gutter rats after a night of drinking. You’re the healer?” he looked at Brody, who nodded. “If none of these boys have any life-threatening injuries you’re needed in the Commander’s quarters at once. That’s right; while you ‘men’ have been ‘busy’ Package fell to the floor of her tower in pain.” Fergus was grimly pleased when the Wardens lost all color and Brody practically ran out of the room. “Howe and I got her to her room; he’s with her now. You will march yourselves to the bathing chamber where hot water, towels, clean clothes, and even bandages wait for you. Then, if _I_ decide you’re acceptable, and _if_ the healer approves, at least one of you _might_ be allowed to see her.” He turned on his heel and left them, a quietly grinning Varel at his side.

 

Blake blinked after his older brother, “He sounded just like Father.”

 

“It’s too early for the baby,” Alistair murmured, stunned. “It’s not due for another two or three weeks, Brody said.”

 

Zevran snorted, “I frequently heard the same from the whores as I was growing up. Babies do not care about calendars or timetables. If you have finished pummeling your friends, I suggest you hurry and do as the ferociously sexy Fergus commanded.  I shall come along to make sure you clean behind your ears.” He smirked when three pairs of eyes stared at him.

 

Alistair stuck out his hand, “Stroud, Jean-Marc, thank you. If you hadn’t . . . I might have,” he shook his head. “I couldn’t find a way through my rage.”

 

Stroud shook the proffered hand, “You are no longer angry at the little girl?” he asked cautiously.

 

The large warrior blinked in surprise, “What are you talking about? I was never angry at my Janna.”

 

“I have seen the way you look at her, and the child she carries, my friend. Others have noticed this as well; and you frequently leave a room shortly after she enters,” Stroud said sternly.

 

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair swore unhappily. “I’m sorry. If that’s what she or anybody else thinks, they’re wrong but . . . maybe not completely, in a sideways upside down kind of way.”

 

“Perhaps you will feel better, Alistair, if you clarify what you mean in words we can understand without standing on our heads,” Zevran finally interjected.

 

Alistair locked the door to make sure nobody interrupted them and then sat down. He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to think how to explain, “I’m not very good with words.” He looked at the three men watching him closely and sighed, “Each of you knows the truth about Janna’s ancestors and her unique, um, abilities and the side effects. Even though she’s Duncan’s daughter I still never really expected her to become pregnant, that we could have children. I suppose years of templar training followed by becoming a Grey Warden . . . I accepted I would probably never have a family of my own. I dunno, maybe I was just protecting myself. Anyway,” he pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration, “after we got out of Fort Drakon . . . she was so badly hurt . . . then Wynne said she m-miscarried . . . it was like joy and pain and hope just got mixed up in a huge ball of hurt. To come so close to something I’ve always wanted and losing it in the same moment . . .”

 

“When we came to Amaranthine, we both realized, in spite of talking darkspawn, that we could finally have the home we both wanted, a place to start a family, Maker willing. I accept that, because of something neither of us can control, I might not be the, erm, technical father. Mostly accept, anyway,” he said with a weak grin. “I don’t blame you,” he looked Stroud directly in the eye, “and I certainly don’t blame Janna, but I won’t lie and say I’m not disappointed.”

 

“Yes, I can understand that,” Stroud answered.

 

“But I should have had a chance,” Alistair burst out, angrily. He shook his head to clear it, “That doesn’t sound right. Maker, I need to figure out how to say this so I can apologize to my Janna.”

 

“The First interfered with your family, as unconventional as such a family may be,” Zevran said thoughtfully. “Because of his actions, the, shall we say parameters, of your personal lives were violated and her pregnancy is a reminder of this. The bee that keeps buzzing around your head, as it were.”

 

Alistair’s sigh of relief was more like a gust of wind, “Yes! The rest is bad enough, but this, this is too personal. I got so angry I couldn’t think about why I was so angry, if that makes any sense.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell this to the little girl?” Stroud wanted to know. “Will you be angry at the coming babe?”

 

Alistair stared at him blankly, “Why would I be angry at a baby?” He shook his head, “I was too mad, too filled with rage to put the words together. Every time I tried, I choked. Literally, a ball of rage would just close in my throat. There weren’t even enough darkspawn in the Korcari Wilds to make a dent in the anger I was feeling; or maybe Finn and Ariane were too good at fighting them,” he mused. He smiled slightly; there was just something about the finicky Finn with the ugly hat that amused him even through his anger.

 

“If confession time is over perhaps we can go see if Fergus will allow any of you to see Pocket Goddess Reynita?” Zevran unlocked the door and walked out.

 

“Like he could stop me,” Alistair muttered petulantly.

 

“Don’t pout, Alistair, or Fergus might send you to bed without supper,” Blake informed him with a straight face. Alistair made a rude noise. “So erudite,” His Majesty teased his friend.

 

Fergus was pleased to see that whatever demons were riding Alistair were gone. “You three look acceptable enough. Fortunately Package has fought with you so your bruises won’t scare her,” he said drily. “She’s asking for you, both of you,” he pointed to Stroud as well. “I suggest the two of you move, quickly.” They did.

 

Nathaniel was relieved to see them, “Good, you’re here. See, Mouse, I told you your Ali was fine.” He kissed her forehead and stepped away. Alistair and Stroud settled on either side of her.

 

“Oh, what happened to your pretty face?” she brought one hand up to trace the bruises but was stopped by another contraction. She gripped their hands until it was over and leaned back against the pillows. Jannasilane looked from one man to the other before speaking again. “You are no longer angry, my Ali,” she sighed in relief.

 

“Thanks to Stroud. Just needed to have some sense knocked into my head,” he gave her a crooked grin, and then winced when he remembered his cut lip. “I’m sorry I worried you, my love. I wasn’t thinking straight but I was never angry with _you_. If I made you think that, well, I’ll make it up to you, somehow, I promise.”

 

Jannasilane smiled at her friend, “Thank you for bringing my Ali back to me, Jean-Marc. I hope he did not hurt you,” she said softly.

 

“Little girl, we all needed the Warden-Commander to return to normal. Sometimes a man just needs to hit something and the darkspawn refused to cooperate,” he kissed the small hand holding onto his. The next several hours followed a pattern; the two men stayed with her almost constantly, talking to her, wiping her brow with cool cloths, wincing on her behalf with each contraction. Brody stayed close, monitoring her progress and occasionally allowing her to walk with assistance for short periods or have a sip of water. At one point Poorfella, Nugflutter and Ser Pounce-a-lot eased into the room and watched from a corner.

 

Rather than stay with the Couslands, Nathaniel decided to see if he could make Alistair’s job any easier and went downstairs to the Commander’s office. Sigrun found him there, flexing his hands. He smiled at her, “It is good to see you again, Sigrun. I suppose you’ve heard that Mouse went into labor?” She nodded, her eyes on his hands in concern, “She has a surprisingly strong grip for such a small person,” he explained. “Stroud and Alistair are with her now.”

 

“I heard a few things. Is it true they were brawling, and that the king joined them?” She grinned, “Sorry I missed that. Bout time somebody kicked that tall duster in the rear.” She watched him for a few minutes, not wanting to admit she was pleased to see him again. Finally, she walked over to him, “Here, let me take a look.” Without waiting for permission she took one of his hands in hers and began massaging it, “I don’t think anything’s broken. You should still win a few archery contests,” she said cheekily after repeating her actions on his other hand.

 

He watched her intently, pleased to see the slight flush on her cheeks. He brought her hands to his lips and lingered over them, “Thank you, my lady,” he said softly. “I welcome your company.”

 

“Such a smooth talking duster,” she mocked, and then she winked at him. “Sticking around for awhile?”

 

“Saykor would never forgive me if I didn’t stay long enough to find out if Mouse has a boy or a girl,” he answered, smiling. “I think Alistair will have a lot on his mind for a few days, thought I’d stay and help. Perhaps even spend time with a certain perky dwarva, if she’s interested. Or have you finally succumbed to Oghren’s more ‘earthy’ blandishments?” he brought her closer to him.

 

She snorted and rolled her eyes, “I think I prefer long, lean, and clean. Sober isn’t bad, either.”

 

“Well, then I am most fortunate.”

 

Upstairs, Jannasilane’s contractions were harder and faster. Down the hall, Zevran and the Cousland brothers were waiting; Ser Mhairi who was acting as a kind of delegate for the soldiers and Wardens joined them. Zevran prayed that Pocket Goddess fared better than his mother had. Blake thought about Anora and was grateful beyond words that Wynne agreed to stay with them until the babe was born. A mage in the castle caused a few eyebrows to rise but most were too relieved at the prospect of a royal heir to care.

 

Fergus couldn’t help remembering the day Oren was born. “Oriana yelled at me and threw quite a number of books at my head. It was the first time I saw her completely lose her temper, for some reason she blamed me,” he smiled. “I think she threatened me, but fortunately I don’t know enough Antivan to be sure.”

 

“Antivan women are very passionate creatures, no matter how demure they appear,” Zevran agreed.

 

“I almost feel sorry for Alistair,” Blake commented, “Package doesn’t have a demure bone in her body.”

 

Jannasilane wasn’t feeling particularly demure, either. After a particularly strong contraction, she began cursing at the men in the room. Alistair stared at Stroud in surprise, “You’re blushing!”

 

“Be grateful you do not understand, Commander. I did not think the little girl knew such words; is she even aware of their meaning?” Stroud shook his head in disbelief.

 

“Just Alistair, we’re not exactly formal at the moment,” he looked warily at his beloved and lowered his voice. “She asked Clarel and Nalia to teach her how to swear. She said she didn’t want to sound like Oghren.”

 

“That would be preferable,” Stroud muttered.

 

“I am right here,” Jannasilane panted and glared.

 

Alistair kissed her hand and smiled at her, “We didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with Brody, my love. I do prefer you profess your undying devotion to me in language I can understand, though.”

 

She snarled at him. A few minutes later she gave a garbled scream as her daughter made her way into the world. In the way of mothers everywhere, she quickly forgot all pains and discomforts when the healer placed her child in her arms. “Lady J,” Brody was tired but smiling broadly, “I present to you one healthy baby girl. I’ll be back in just a few minutes to finish up.”

 

They barely heard him. “She’s so red and wrinkly,” Alistair commented in an awed voice. With his finger, he traced the outline of the heavily swaddled bundle.

 

“I am no expert but I believe this is normal for all babies right after they are born,” Stroud commented, just as softly.

 

“She’s perfect,” Jannasilane whispered. She leaned against Alistair, glad to have him back. Watching them, Stroud knew it was time for him to go. “Jean-Marc, wait. Do you want to hold her?”

 

He stopped. Suddenly he was terrified, “Little girl, I have known nothing but the life of a warrior for many years. These hands know what to do with a weapon, but a baby? I worry I will hurt something so fragile.” Even as he protested he yearned, _“She is correct. I want nothing more than to hold my daughter in my arms even if it is just for a moment.”_ Jannasilane said nothing, just watched and waited. Finally, he sat down next to them and gingerly took the precious bundle into his arms. He looked down into his daughter’s tiny face and saw her staring up at him, blinking. “Hello, you big, beautiful, baby girl,” he whispered. “Little girl, you have done well, ‘this is truth.’” He kept gazing at the tiny creature in wonder.

 

“Humph,” she snorted. “Why is she a big girl and I am still ‘little girl?’” she complained.

 

“That is a question for the wisest scholars in Thedas,” Stroud answered soberly, a twinkle in his eyes. He winked at his daughter. Alistair coughed to hide his laughter. “Commander, you have a beautiful family. Guard them well,” carefully he returned the babe to her mother’s arms.

 

“We’ll have to have a party to celebrate the arrival of Martelle Alara,” Alistair suggested.

 

Stroud was stunned, “Martelle?” Jannasilane and Alistair nodded. He stood up hastily, “Forgive me, but I shall leave the three of you to get further acquainted. Blessings on your family.” He left through the Commander’s office rather than run the gauntlet of waiting friends. _“They named her after my parents, Martin and Ghiselle,”_ he kept thinking. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming urge to go to the small chapel and give thanks to the Maker.

 

“That went well,” Alistair grinned. He stroked baby Martelle’s cheek, “Don’t you think it went well, Marty? Maker’s breath, I think I love her already. Thank you, my love, my always.”

 

Nathaniel and Sigrun ran upstairs when they heard Jannasilane and joined the others in time to hear the baby cry. Oghren was already there, “Didn’t think you’d keep old Oghren away, did ya? Anybody want a belt of my special ale? I’m feeling a might generous, seeing as how I won the pool.”

 

“Don’t remind me,” Mhairi rolled her eyes at the same time Fergus asked, “What pool?”

 

“When the nuglet came, of course, you fancy duster. What else?” the dwarf snorted. “Temperamental women always deliver early, probably to keep everybody from going insane. And our feisty Cherryplum sure qualifies; Felsi was the same way,” sadness briefly swept across his face but he quickly chased it away with another drink.

 

“You’re making that up,” Sigrun accused. “Just like the story you told Velanna about pink rocks are baby girl dwarves and gray ones are baby boys.”

 

“Compared to Velanna, Mouse is serene as a still pond. She was beyond steamed at you, ser dwarf,” Nathaniel remembered the various reprisals the Dalish mage visited upon Oghren.

 

“From what I recall of the lovely Velanna you were indeed courting death, my friend,” Zevran laughed, along with the others.

 

The laughter stopped when Alistair entered the room carrying a tiny bundle. “Everybody, meet Martelle Alara. Martelle, this is everybody, well, a lot of people, anyway. We got out of Brody’s way, he can be so bossy,” he laughed. The healer had actually bustled back into the room and told him to go away for a few minutes. “Janna will probably be asleep when we get back. She’s fine,” he added before anybody could ask, “and Marty is absolutely perfect.”

 

“Martelle is a pretty name, Commander,” Mhairi said, her eyes on the baby in Alistair’s arms. She wondered what it would be like to have a child of her own, though that seemed unlikely.


	108. The Vigil Celebrates

The guest of honor was not cooperating. Neither was her father. “Alistair, stop spinning around with Martelle,” Jannasilane was cross. “I’ve had to change my clothes three times because she keeps throwing up on them. If she does it again I’m going to make _you_ wear a dress to greet our guests.”

 

“You’re beautiful like this, half-naked with your hair falling around your shoulders and breasts. Isn’t she beautiful, Marty?” Alistair teased his beloved. Then he frowned, “Hmmm, maybe I should stop. I don’t want our little Marty to get any ideas and think running around without a shirt is a good idea. But _you_ can remember for later,” he waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer.

 

Jannasilane glared to hide her amusement. She looked at her warrior; he was so big and strong in contrast to their tiny, baby daughter. Instead of looking silly, it looked, _“It looks right. My Ali radiates love whenever he holds Martelle. Truly I am a lucky woman.”_ She thought of a way to pay him back for messing up so many of her clothes. Her glare changed to a feline smile of feminine appreciation for the man in front of her. She sauntered towards him with swaying hips, “You like what you see, my Ali?” she lightly brushed her fingers across the top of her breasts in a slow, delicate caress. Alistair gulped. “Maybe when we are in our rooms I should wear nothing but a thin skirt, _nothing,”_ she emphasized. Slowly she walked her fingers up his abdomen to his chest, backing him up against the bed until he abruptly sat down, practically holding Martelle as a shield. “Perhaps I’ll give you a massage, or just kiss your soft, full lips until you are so hard you can’t even think of getting up,” she nipped his lips and kissed him slowly until he moaned. “Brody said at least another month before we can be . . . intimate,” she whispered as she trailed light kisses along his jaw line until she reached his ear, “a month can be a _very long_ time, my Ali.”

 

“You are a wicked, wicked woman,” he groaned before wrapping his free hand in her hair and bringing her mouth to his. “Thank the Maker for that,” he plundered, he dominated, he enticed. Well, until Martelle began squirming between them. He closed his eyes on a sigh of frustration.

 

Jannasilane was already plucking her out of her father’s arms, all thoughts of teasing seduction pushed aside, “She certainly has a Warden’s appetite.” She sat down in the rocking chair, a gift from Lady Isolde. “Don’t you, my big girl,” she cooed.

 

Alistair watched them and thought his Janna had never looked more beautiful. “I’m sorry, my love,” he finally said. “Twirling around with her was probably not the best idea, but I think she likes it.”

 

“I’m sure she does,” Jannasilane responded with a soft smile, “but don’t do it right after she’s eaten.”

 

He smiled sheepishly, “I promise.” He got up and handed her a towel from the supply they now kept in their room. Alistair watched in fascination as some milk beaded on Jannasilane’s nipple. Quickly, before she could wipe it away, he scooped it on his finger and brought it to his mouth to taste. “Hmmm, it tastes a bit peachy,” he said in surprise.

 

Jannasilane blushed and shook her head at her love, “I did have peaches a few hours ago. I suppose I better be careful what I eat.”

 

“We definitely do not want our daughter to develop a taste for dwarven ale.” Some minutes later, “Are you sure about asking Isolde to be a godmother with Leliana? I understand wanting Leliana, Jean-Marc, and Teagan. Politically, it just isn’t wise to ask Blake, Anora or Fergus. Maybe with our second child . . . but I’m side-tracking myself.”

 

“I’m sure,” she tilted her head and tried to explain, “I was ready to hate her when I learned how mean she was to you when you were just a child, this is truth. Her actions in Redcliffe were deplorable this is also truth. But now, now I think I can understand why,” she looked down at the oblivious babe feeding at her breast. “She was not just fighting against those who would take her only child away from her; she was fighting for his, for his soul.” She frowned, “That sounds so, what is the term, melodramatic. Anyway, while you were seeking Morrigan for Blake she came to visit. She said that since she was a mother I might appreciate her advice; that she heard you were away on king’s business and wanted to help. She was speaking truth my Ali, of this I am sure. Most of her ‘advice’ was just what she found helpful when she was pregnant with Connor. She didn’t try to make me take it, though much of it was surprisingly helpful, mostly she was just ready to listen if I wished to talk.”

 

“She can be a silly woman, and she’s not the smartest, but she’s not as bad as we thought. She loves Eamon and Connor, and she’s terrified of magic. These are truths. She knows Eamon is fond of you; I think she wants to, not be your friend,” she stuck her tongue out at him when Alistair smiled a little at the unlikelihood of that ever happening, “but not be a, a barrier anymore. It is easier for her to be kind to me than to talk to you.”

 

“That’s because you’re so adorable, just ask any of our people,” he teased. “People just want to pick you up and carry you away. I think you won her over with your concern for Connor. You, more than any of us, took the time to talk to him and make him feel better about being a mage. Eamon told me that he even has a crush on you.”

 

Jannasilane blushed. “Silly man,” she muttered. She cleared her throat, “We talked much while she was here. The Chantry’s influence is very strong in Orlais, much stronger than in Ferelden. Moreover, it teaches that magic is evil and mages cannot be trusted. At least, the Chantry where her family lives does. Her uncles were very bad men, and they were mages. I think she wanted very much to get away from them; falling in love with Eamon gave her the courage to leave even if it meant marrying a Fereldan against her family’s wishes. Alistair, you know that Maric was very upset with Eamon for marrying an Orlesian woman. You also know that Isolde heard rumors that you were Eamon’s bastard. What you do not know, and I am only guessing based on the little Isolde told me, is that many of the so-called noble women of Ferelden were cruel to her, believing they had free rein to humiliate her and using your existence to hurt her. They may have even started the rumors that you were Eamon’s bastard and dared her to do something about it. She is not as strong as you, so she lashed out at the only person she could.”

 

“And that person was me. Maker,” Alistair exclaimed, “what a mess. I never thought about what it must have been like for her; I only knew Maric was angry at Eamon and she didn’t like me.” He thought back to his childhood in Redcliffe, trying to see it in light of what he just learned. “Maybe I’m imagining it, but I think she was always worse after they came back from Denerim. Even so, it doesn’t excuse her,” he said sternly.

 

“No, it does not; but I know you wish your relationship with Eamon was better, and I think this will help. Besides, Teagan and Leliana know how to keep her in line,” she added impishly.

 

“Clever and beautiful; I’m a lucky man,” he moved to her side and kissed her cheek, “Have I told you today that I love you?” He plucked the now sated baby out of her arms and held Martelle against his shoulder, gently patting her back to burp her.

 

Leliana burst into their room in a swirl of beautiful silks, “Come on, you two. It is bad form to be late to your own party.” She took a moment to admire the picture in front of her, the handsome warrior holding his small daughter and the nearly naked woman sitting behind him. Just then, Martelle gave a loud burp, causing her to laugh, “Oghren would be proud of that one. Alistair, go get your daughter ready to meet her admirers and I will help your lady.” She practically pushed him out the door. “I thought you already fed her,” Leliana helped her out of the chair.

 

“I did. Then Alistair whirled around with her and she threw up on my dress. Of course, I soon had to feed her. This is the fourth time I’ve had to do so,” she huffed. “I was beginning to think I would need to call on Celindra, her baby will soon be ready to wean and she offered to be Martelle’s wet nurse.”

 

“Poor Jannasilane,” Leliana teased. She handed Jannasilane’s breast band to her while looking at the choice of blouses. She picked one up that was of very thin silk covered with layers of fringe. Some of the fringe had a small glass bead attached to the end. She held it away from her and gently shook it, watching as the fringe moved and the beads caught the light. “Where did you get this?” she shook it again.

 

“My Ali, he said it reminded him of the fringe on my leathers. A merchant with goods from Rivain said it was a seer’s blouse and that the fringe and beads somehow acted as gatherers of energy as well as focusers,” she rolled her eyes. She didn’t believe that for a moment and Leliana didn’t appear to either. “I think my Ali just likes to see me wearing fringe.”

 

Leliana chuckled, “Then let’s not disappoint him. It is definitely unusual, but it’s not very form-fitting, I bet it is marvelously flattering on you.”

 

“I hope so, I don’t have that many clothes that fit any more, not nice ones,” Jannasilane grumbled and put on the unusual blouse. At Leliana’s direction she walked around the room, the fringe lightly swung and accentuated the sway of her hips. The bottom layer fell below her knees, so she created patterns of light and shadow as she walked.

 

“It may not be fashionable but Alistair is going to love it,” Leliana remarked.

 

“It’s comfortable,” her friend replied. The bard laughed, the response was just so, so _Fereldan._

 

Alistair was waiting for them in the main hall, “See Marty? There’s Mommy, beautiful as always. I told you she’d be here soon.” He took Martelle’s tiny hand and waved it at the two women. His eyes darkened with appreciation as his love walked towards him, the swaying fringe accenting every voluptuous curve. _“It’s going to be a very long month,”_ he sighed to himself. “You look beautiful, my love,” he said softly.

 

Stroud entered from the courtyard and stopped; he took a moment to enjoy the vision that was Jannasilane in her fancy fringe. Mentally he shook himself and bowed slightly, “It is a pleasure to see three lovely ladies together. Commander, your guests are arriving. The games and food tents are already doing a brisk business but I have made sure you will have the opportunity to enjoy some of your favorite foods, little girl.”

 

The scene outside the fortress was playful chaos. Colorful tents dotted the plain fields a short walk from the Vigil, each one waving banners advertising the exciting things within. Children ran around while their parents looked on indulgently. In order to give his people, and the people of the Arling, plenty of opportunity to enjoy the festivities Alistair hired/borrowed servants from Redcliffe, Highever, as well as elves from the Denerim Alienage. Eamon loaned him the services of Ser Perth and his men who buttressed the ranks of the Keep’s guards, allowing the Wardens, Cousins and guards the chance to have fun. Only special guests were allowed inside the Keep itself. Ser Pounce-a-lot watched disdainfully from the safety of the ramparts while Nugflutter and Poorfella waited to escort their master and mistress.

 

Fergus was laughing at something Mhairi said. “Alistair,” he turned to greet his hosts, “Package, this is a marvelous idea.”

 

“I’ve been a bit of a bear the last few months; it was the least I could do. And I get to show off my daughter to a lot of people at one time, it’s efficient,” Alistair smiled in response.

 

“There ya are, ‘bout time the two of you showed up. Cherryplum, you’re looking extra delicious today,” Oghren’s leer was muted, probably in deference to the dwarva beside him. “You remember Felsi? She brought our nuglet, Strake, he really likes that fried dough stuff.” The sturdy toddler was standing unsteadily by his mother, clutching her skirts, his face smeared with bits of sugary dough. He laughed when Poorfella licked it off his face.

 

Alistair chuckled, “It’s good to see you again, Felsi. Looks like somebody’s having a good time.” He knelt to talk nonsense to the little boy while Felsi cooed over the baby girl in Janna’s arms.

 

“So the Mini It produced a bit of an it,” Shale rumbled from behind her. “I suppose It is proud of itself,” she looked at Alistair when she spoke. “It should be careful not to lose either the Mini It or the Bit of It.”

 

“It’s good to see you too, Shale, you rocky mountain of good cheer,” Alistair smirked.

 

Blake and Anora joined them with Wynne in close attendance. “Zevran is checking your security,” Blake answered the unspoken question. “You’re looking like a pretty Package, I think motherhood agrees with you,” he kissed her on the cheek. “And the stocking stuffer is sleeping quietly.”

 

“Blake is right about one thing, you are positively radiant. And you are looking very happy, Alistair; the three of you make a handsome picture,” Anora smiled at them both. “What is her name? Blake wouldn’t tell me, he only called her Baby Package.”

 

“Martelle Alara,” Jannasilane smiled back.

 

“What a lovely name,” Wynne joined them at the same time as Eamon and Isolde. Teagan and his bride, Ginetta, were only a step behind them. “I must say, Alistair, I think being Warden-Commander suits you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking happier or more comfortable in your own skin.”

 

He brushed his hand over Jannasilane’s hair and smiled when she looked up at him. “I’ve got my Janna and now a family,” he said simply.

 

Everybody enjoyed the festival. Constable Aidan was off-duty and came with some of his city guard to enjoy the rare event and keep an informal eye out for trouble. As a result, there was very little disruption to the day’s entertainment. Most of those present had never seen the king and queen, so accepted the royal presence as just some other nobles, much to their relief. The closer she came to her own due date, the less patience Anora had for the formalities of her position. Perhaps they owed their anonymity to Shale, since the golem engendered a lot of interest. Teagan and Ginetta took a lot of teasing from Jannasilane and Alistair, who pretended to be hurt and outraged they never received an invitation to the wedding.

 

“I thought we were friends, Teagan,” Jannasilane pouted. Alistair and Leliana backed her up with ‘there, there’ motions.

 

Blake shook his head, “Annie and I weren’t invited either. I think he’s ashamed of us.”

 

“No, Warden,” Zevran said solemnly, “he did it for his bride. He didn’t want to risk her being upstaged by such loveliness.”

 

“That’s not true!” Teagan protested, “Nobody would have looked more beautiful than Ginetta.”

 

“Hmm, you might be right,” Leliana wrinkled her brow prettily in feigned concentration. “I think he didn’t want her to compare him with our handsome Warden-Commander and feel she was getting a bad deal.”

 

“Eamon, help me out here,” Teagan begged.

 

Arl Eamon coughed and shook his head, “I am sorry, brother. I did warn you and now you have to deal with the consequences.” He took a sip of ale to hide his smile. Ginetta was a perfect match for Teagan and he couldn’t be happier with his younger brother’s choice.

 

Ginetta quickly caught on to the game and was entertained by the teasing. She finally took pity on her husband and came to his defense, “I think you will have to blame me. It was either get married quietly, family only, or wait at least a year to have a larger wedding. I didn’t want anybody else to snatch him up.”

 

“I’m not a toy,” Teagan scowled.

 

“Package said that once,” Blake laughed.

 

“And I said she could be _my_ toy,” Alistair grinned. Then ‘oofed’ when she elbowed him. “Hey,” he looked at her reproachfully.

 

The quickly arranged festival ended shortly before the sun went down. Alistair and Jannasilane thanked everyone for coming and helping celebrate the birth of their daughter and then returned to the Vigil proper with their guests. Now they were in their room, relaxing before dinner. “Martelle is sleeping peacefully, my Ali,” Jannasilane said and lay down next to Alistair. She smiled when he brought her closer to his side so she could rest her head on his chest. “I am very proud of you,” she leaned up and kissed him before laying her head back down. “That was very nice, the way you thanked Isolde for coming to visit me.”

 

“She was so flustered I could almost see the pretty girl Eamon fell in love with,” he said sleepily. “I wasn’t sure she would enjoy the festival but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so relaxed.” Soon they followed their daughter’s example.

 

Isolde wasn’t at all sleepy. She watched from her window as the sun and the tents went down. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed the day, especially considering how nervous she was at the start. Alistair allayed many of her concerns when he thanked her for visiting Jannasilane, _“I was wrong to treat the boy as I did. Eamon was right, I should have ignored the rumors and given him a chance, he was a good boy who would one day become a fine man. I was so young and foolish.”_

 

Eamon left the library where he’d been talking to Fergus and Mhairi. He rather thought he wouldn’t need to encourage Fergus to remarry. From all the signs, the Teyrn and the pretty knight were, or soon would be, smitten with each other. She wasn’t a noble but Wardens and soldiers alike held her in high regard, and she was Ferelden to the core. A noble marriage might be more practical but if Fergus found happiness elsewhere it was well deserved. At the very least Eamon was satisfied he was healing and looking forward instead of back. When he entered the bedroom, he was surprised that it was dark and Isolde was standing at the window. “Isolde?” he walked to her side, “Isolde, you’re crying, what’s wrong?” He brushed away her tears.

 

She looked at him and smiled, “Am I, husband? Then they are happy tears . . . Eamon you were right about Alistair. They asked me to be one of Martelle’s godmothers, along with Leliana.”

 

He smiled, “I love you, Isolde.” He held her in his arms and quietly thanked the Maker.

 

Sigrun grinned down at Nathaniel. She was sitting astride him, his manhood still inside her after some very satisfactory lovemaking, “That was fun. I’m glad you decided to stick around for a while.”

 

He grinned back at her, “It was, wasn’t it? I hope the newest Wardens Saykor brought with him don’t get the idea that today was a normal day for Grey Wardens.”

 

“If so, I’m sure you and the Commander will knock that idea out of their heads. How long ya stayin’ this time?” Sigrun liked Nathaniel; he always treated her with respect and was surprisingly inventive in bed. He also didn’t push her about their relationship. For a duster and a noble, he was all right.

 

“A few more days, I want to give the Commander as much time as possible with Mouse and their new daughter. I owe him a lot,” he lightly teased one perky breast. “He gave me a chance when most wouldn’t; the least I can do is give him some time to enjoy Martelle. Fergus is going to stay until after the christening,” his expression sobered whenever he thought of his old friend.

 

Sigrun hated to see him brood on what he couldn’t change, “I think he may be staying to spend time with Mhairi, the christening is a good excuse. There’s nothing more you can do, Nate. The best you may be able to hope for is for him and Blake to just ignore you, treat you like any other Warden they don’t know.”

 

He nodded, “Instead of the son of the man who killed their family down to a child. I saw the grove he planted in memory of those my father killed, Sigrun. There were so many, family, soldiers, servants, and more, all because of Rendon Howe’s insane greed. It’s hard, knowing I come from that. I wish I could say he was possessed by a desire demon, but I know it was all him.”

 

“If you were anything like your father you wouldn’t be a Grey Warden now,” Sigrun argued. “Let it go, Nate. You’re going to make me think I’m losing my touch,” she leaned forward to distract him.

 

“Mustn’t disappoint a lady,” he smiled.

 

“Sten would have loved that lace cake as much as you and Oghren’s son,” Leliana teased Jannasilane at dinner. She looked across the tables to where Oghren was sitting next to Strake and Felsi.  Mostly it was just Wardens eating; everybody else was still full from all the food at the festival.

 

“Yes, I think it was a surprise to all of us that the Qunari had such a sweet tooth,” Zevran laughed. “And didn’t he argue with you, Warden, that his teeth weren’t sweet?”

 

Blake snorted, “He certainly was very . . . literal. The number of times we had to explain something to him,” he shook his head.

 

“Two birds with one stone.”

 

“Tempest in a teacup.”

 

“Mountain out of a molehill.”

 

“A silk purse out of a sow’s ear.” His former traveling companions tossed out one example after another.

 

“Maker, he really had trouble with that one,” Alistair laughed. “He asked me if humans were really so ignorant that they thought they could possibly turn a pig’s ear into silk anything.”

 

“‘Mutton dressed as lamb’ was another phrase he didn’t understand, even after I explained the meaning,” Jannasilane added. “I think the idea was as foreign to him as the one that women fight.”

 

Leliana sniffed disdainfully, “Please do not remind me. My head hurt for days after that argument.” The others laughed. “If you will excuse me, I wish to talk to some of the musicians before the dancing starts. I have a new number I wish to perform.” Her leaving might have been a signal for the others to finish for soon the dining hall was empty.

 

Since the weather was cooperating, a rare enough circumstance, the music and dancing were on the roof. Leliana as well as any with a musical talent took the opportunity to perform for their fellows. Everybody agreed it was a fairy tale ending to a perfect day.


	109. Silly, Wonderful, Beautiful

Stroud stood and stretched. Beside him, in the Commander’s office, Martelle watched him with sleepy eyes. At least half the Vigil was in love with the baby girl, so his preoccupation was, if not unnoticed, unremarked. Certainly more people stopped by the Commander’s office when Martelle was present. He picked the baby up and held her lovingly. No one would call him taciturn or dour if they saw him in that moment. “Let’s see how your mother is doing in the sparring ring. Healer Brody told her she could resume all ‘normal activities.’ Your father is watching her to make sure she doesn’t over-exert herself.” In Alistair’s place he would do the same, _“The Commander could barely hide the flare of lust at finally being to reconnect with little girl. Motherhood has given her an extra veneer of voluptuous sensuality that she seems unaware. I think he might cry if she hurt herself during practice.”_ He smiled at the baby, “Which means I have you all to myself.” Martelle smiled at him, he was convinced she recognized his voice. “More or less,” he sighed and turned when Oghren entered.

 

“See ya got nuglet duty,” Oghren grunted. He made a face that would certainly scare darkspawn but Martelle seemed fascinated. “Came by to see if you knew anything about Her blonde Majesty popping out the new heir, seein’ as how people want to know who won the pool,” the dwarf settled comfortably in the chair. “Thought Cherryplum looked pretty good in the ring, today. Not quite as fast or hard as she was, but that’ll come back soon enough, I reckon.”

 

“Yes, the little girl obviously inherited her father’s resiliency. Let us hope that baby girl is as fortunate,” Stroud said politely. “I thought you and Sigrun were patrolling along the coast with the newer recruits?”

 

Oghren snorted, “We were. Ran into some smugglers but no darkspawn. Those cargo rats that lived we dumped on the city guard. Decided we might as well report back and start out again tomorrow. ‘Sides, Sigrun was getting on my nerves, the way she’s pining for Mr. Stoic Broody Britches.”

 

Stroud blinked, “It’s hard to imagine Sigrun pining.”

 

“Yeah, well, her way of pining is to get extra perky. Kind of makes you sick after awhile. Maybe you should send her back to the Blackmarsh. I think she likes the creepy place. Her blasted perkiness will chase away any demons or ghosts which might be lingering.”

 

Ser Mhairi knocked on the door before entering. She looked briefly at the infant and smiled, “Warden-Constable, everything is in order for me to go to Highever. However, until Her Majesty gives birth I think it best I stay here or at our Denerim compound. Fer-, Teyrn Cousland plans to remain in the capital as much as possible until his niece or nephew is born. I do not wish to presume on his good nature by establishing myself in his holding without his presence.”

 

“Ha, the lad’s smitten with you, you sexy warrior woman. You could ‘establish’ yourself all you like,” Oghren leered.

 

The knight sniffed, “Even if that **were** the case, ser dwarf, even more reason not to presume. The Teyrn has been a friend to the Wardens and we shouldn’t abuse that friendship.”

 

“In this case I agree with Ser Mhairi,” he ignored Oghren’s mutterings about the woman’s ‘rack,’ “we are already more politically involved than many think wise. Moreover, since we are relying on Teyrn Cousland’s knowledge of the area it isn’t practical to go to Highever at this time. I see no reason-”

 

Alistair breezed in, all smiles. “Hey, how’s our baby girl? Mommy was looking good out there, you’ll be pleased to know,” he chucked her under her chin with a light touch. “She smiled at me, I keep telling Janna she smiles at me but she says it’s gas. What does she know?” he cooed. “Janna’s taking a bath, says she doesn’t like being all sweaty when the bottomless pit wants to eat. Any news from Denerim?”

 

“No word from the capital; Martelle _does_ smile, no matter what the little girl thinks; Ser Mhairi is ready to leave; and your baby girl needs a change,” Stroud handed Martelle over to the Commander.

 

“Of course she does,” Alistair elicited a gurgle from his daughter when he lightly rubbed noses with her. “Mhairi can go to our compound in Denerim and accompany Fergus when he goes home. He’ll be glad to have somebody along he can brag to. You’ll leave tomorrow, but first I want to meet with all four of you first, no, second or third thing in the morning.” He opened the door leading to his quarters. As he left they heard him talking, “We’re going to get you all cleaned up for Mommy, aren’t we? It wouldn’t be fair for her to smell all sweet and sexy while you stink like a dirty darkspawn. No, that’s not fair at all.”

 

“Perky, friggin’ pike-twirler,” Oghren muttered. Mhairi just looked at him. She actually thought it was rather sweet, seeing the giant warrior so enraptured with his new daughter but didn’t feel like arguing with the dwarf.

 

Upstairs Alistair whistled tunelessly while cleaning his baby's bottom. He couldn't imagine loving any child more than he adored the little girl in front of him. _"I wonder if this is how her stepfather felt about Janna. I hope I'm as good a father as he is."_ Amaranthine was recovering nicely from the darkspawn civil war; he had a reasonable number of Wardens under his command, enough that he could start helping the dwarves take back at least some of the Deep Roads, _"if Harrowmont will finally agree that it makes more sense for us to start with Kal'Hirol. We can help protect his people reclaim the thaig and the roads between here and Orzammar. He's got the Legion of the Dead on his end."_ He didn't let the dwarven king's deliberateness sour his mood. His Janna was healthy; their daughter was healthy; and tonight, tonight he and his love were finally going to reconnect. What could be more perfect?

 

"Now you smell as sweet as apple pie, good enough to eat," he pretended to gobble her up. "I'm going to take you to Mommy, now. You're going to fill that empty tummy and then spend the night down the hall with Celindra. Mommy and I are going to have some special alone time. You'll understand one day, maybe when you're thirty, or even forty. Yeah, forty is good."

 

He turned around when he heard a noise behind him. “Hi,” he smiled sheepishly. He cleared his throat, “She’s all clean and ready for feeding #2,073.”

 

Jannasilane smiled at both of them. “I always thought you were handsome, my Ali, from the moment we met. Holding our daughter with such love in your eyes, you’ve never been more so. This is truth. I love you, my Ali,” she padded softly towards them and leaned up to take the hungry baby.

 

Before she could move away he held her, held them both, in his arms. “You’ve given me more joy than I ever believed possible, Jannasilane Alenahaella. I love you, always, and can’t wait until I can really touch you again,” he whispered hoarsely. He still marveled that this wonderful, unusual woman loved _him_ and vowed to deserve her.

 

“I, too, have been eagerly waiting for the moment we can be together again. I’ve thought of so many ways I want to touch you,” she slipped out of his grasp and sat down to feed the eager Martelle.

 

Alistair groaned to see one magnificent breast uncovered. “You,” he accused, “are a wicked woman. I think I’ll go bathe and decide how I want you to scream for me the _first_ time.” He grinned at her blush and left the room. _“Ha, two can play that game.”_

 

When he returned to their bedroom, Jannasilane was sitting in the middle of their bed and wearing a light robe. She looked nervous. He decided to ignore that, “You know, one nice thing about having mages around is their ability to cool or heat things quickly. Somebody sent us champagne a few months ago. I don’t know if it’s any good but tonight seems a good time to try it since Marty is with Celindra until morning. Let’s hope I can open it without poking somebody’s eye out.” He started wrestling with the cork. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, Jannalove?”

 

“You’re going to laugh at me,” she muttered and pulled down her robe, covering her knees

 

He smiled but kept his eyes on the cork, “Probably,” he admitted.

 

She scowled and hit him on the arm. Whether by coincidence or because of her action the cork flew across the room and sparkling liquid began effervescing out of the bottle. Alistair quickly held it over her so she was drenched. “Where are . . .oh, here they are,” he filled the glasses and put the bottle on the floor. “To our new family, may it grow as strong as our love,” he clicked his glass to hers and took a sip. “Anything wrong?” he blinked innocently.

 

“Alistair, I am all wet,” she accused.

 

“I noticed,” he grinned wickedly. “I kind of like the ‘wet frock’ look on you, the way it molds your breasts and makes them stand up.” He bent down and brought one fabric-covered nipple into his mouth.

 

She arched into him; the heat of his mouth was such a contrast to the cool, damp fabric. “You, you did that on purpose,” she gasped.

 

“Hmm,” he hummed noncommittally. The vibration resonated against her skin and she shivered. “Janpagne is even better than champagne.” He moved to her other breast, then stopped and looked at her with wide eyes, “Would I do that? Well, if it bothers you why don’t you just take it off?” He began ‘helping’ her, all the while stroking and caressing her. His eyes laughed at her struggles.

 

She huffed and pushed him back so he was lying down and she was straddling him, “I’m serious.”

 

“So am I,” he answered and quickly threw her robe across the room. “Maker’s breath, you’re beautiful.”

 

Jannasilane crossed her arms in front of her, trying to hide her body from his gaze, “Ali, I’ve changed. My body, it’s different now.”

 

Alistair frowned and sat up. “Janna,” he cupped her face in his hands, “you had a baby. I was there, I saw you. I don’t know much about such things but I’d be amazed if there weren’t any changes. What I know is that right now your body has a, mmm, a soft lushness it didn’t have before. Maybe it’s permanent, maybe not; but it’s sexy,” he kissed her forehead, “sexy,” he kissed one cheek, “sexy,” he kissed the other cheek, “sexy,” he brushed his lips over hers.

 

“There, there are scars,” she breathed shakily against his mouth.

 

“Huh?” he pulled back. “What are you talking about?” now he was genuinely perplexed. She pointed to a few small stretch marks. “These little things? Janna, my love, you have scars from darkspawn, bandits, even the Archdemon . . . so what if you have a few dots left over from bringing our child into the world.”

 

“Those were business, these are personal,” she frowned. She was beginning to feel foolish.

 

His mouth fell open. He gaped. Then he fell backwards roaring with laughter and bringing her with him despite her protests. He rolled them over, held her hands above her head with one hand, and trapped her with his body. “You’re so vain,” he teased. He nibbled at a scar on her wrist, “I’m going to honor every badge of honor, ‘business or personal,’ if it takes me all night,” he trailed kisses and little nips until her reached her mouth. “You amazing, silly, wonderful, beautiful, generous, brave woman, I adore you,” he whispered. “Come morning you won’t have any more doubts about how sexy and attractive you are, I promise.”

 

Alistair was a man of honor and made good on his word.


	110. Good News for Ferelden

The Vigil was quiet. Servants, soldiers and Wardens were going about their business as normal. As per Stroud’s directions, implemented when Alistair was away, all soldiers and Wardens not seriously injured or on patrol were required to spend time in the sparring ring or practicing their archery. Even the mages had to spend their time practicing without magic. When he returned, Alistair saw no reason to change this. He even added special sessions for mages and warriors with templar training to skirmish against each other. The mages hated it but accepted the necessity.

 

Stroud escaped the dining room as soon as he could. Without Alistair and his family, it was just too quiet. He watched the sparring partners with an eagle eye, occasionally calling out instructions. “Seneschal,” he greeted Varel. “Come to escape the duties of your office?’

 

“Hmmm,” Varel smiled slightly. “The Vigil is unusually peaceful, at the moment. It is surprising that the absence of one small person can make such a difference to the energy level.”

 

“Do you refer to the little girl or her daughter?” the Warden responded.

 

Varel chuckled, “Either, I suppose. Our lady has quite the presence, with or without a new baby. After the Queen promised Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens, I hoped for this type of atmosphere. It’s just people going about their business without interference. Then the Commander arrived with his lady and brought new life to Vigil’s Keep; peacefully going about one’s business just isn’t enough.”

 

Stroud nodded thoughtfully, “Yes, I think I understand. The Commander or the little girl is enough to make a difference, but together they are much more. I believe scholars have a term for it but I am no scholar. Carver,” he directed his attention to the ring, “focus. Do not let him bait you. Use your will to concentrate on what you need to do.” He watched the young man he brought back from the Deep Roads. “He has the talent and strength to be an excellent Warden one day, Anders was correct about that, but he must learn to control his temper in order to reach his potential.”

 

“He is certainly less angry than when he first arrived,” Varel noted.

 

“Fortunately we do not avoid recruiting able men and women just because they have a chip on their shoulder. Fighting darkspawn soon puts such issues into perspective.”

 

“I suppose they do.”

 

The next few days followed the same pattern of training, paperwork, and waiting for another messenger from Alistair as the previous ones. His first message was a brief note stating that he and his family arrived in Denerim without incident. Stroud allowed Wardens returning from elsewhere in Ferelden to stay until they heard news from the capital. All wished for a healthy royal heir; no one wanted to face the prospect of another civil war. All the progress the Commander made on behalf of the Wardens might be lost. As far as they were concerned, it was a miracle Her Highness became pregnant at all.

 

Nearly two weeks after their Arl and Commander left, a guard noticed a man rushing towards the Vigil. Captain Garevel ordered his men to stand ready, even though they didn’t see anything or anyone chasing the man. When he got closer they heard him yelling, “A message, I have a message for the Vigil!”

 

Stroud and Varel joined Garevel in the courtyard. “Take a breath, man,” Garevel said. “You’ll not do yourself any good if you collapse.”

 

The man straightened painfully. “The, the Hero asked me to get this message to the Vigil as fast as, as fast as possible,” he gasped. “Arkavy Dryden at your, at your service.” He pulled a missive from his satchel.

 

“I am Captain Garevel of the Amaranthine guard. With me are Seneschal Varel and Warden-Constable Stroud, you may give them your missive.”

 

“You’ve done well, Arkavy,” Varel said gravely and accepted the parchment. “Your diligence surely entitles you to some reward; in the meantime we can provide you with food and drink. We’ll also arrange for a bed for the night. Sigrun,” he motioned to the Warden approaching them, “would you be so good as to take Arkavy to the dining hall?”

 

“Sure thing, Seneschal,” Sigrun replied cheerfully. “The cook here is great. Why don’t I keep you company and that way I can answer any questions you might have.” She continued chattering as she led the man away.

 

Alistair’s advisors waited until they were out of ear-and-eyeshot before smiling. “We better warn the Commander to be more careful with his instructions. His admirers sometimes take him too literally,” Varel commented.

 

“Let us go to the office and examine this message,” Stroud suggested. “Although I daresay Sigrun will manage to get the same information from young Arkavy before we can finish reading.”

 

“Not a bet I’m willing to take,” the captain muttered.

 

_“Hello, the Vigil,”_ Alistair’s letter began,

 

_“I want to thank you, Varel, for remembering that Howe had an estate here long before he was the Arl of Denerim. The old cheapskate didn’t maintain it well, so it needed a lot of repairs. However, it is in the Palace District, which makes it desirable to some. Since my skin itches at the thought of living among the high and mighty, oh wait, I am one, now, I worked out a deal with Eamon and the Crown to let them have it in exchange for property in a more modest but perfectly respectable neighborhood. We avoided legal wrangles since some might argue the Arling doesn’t necessarily include properties outside of Amaranthine. Our new house needed a lot of work, but in the months since then the rebuilding is just about complete. We even have room to expand, if we wish._

_You should have seen Janna’s face when we stopped; I never told her about the house and let her think we were staying with Teagan. She surprised me with her zeal for decorating. We have a bed, some tables and chairs, and a working kitchen. I figured we’d fill out the rest, eventually. Apparently, eventually is really now and she’s talking about paint, curtains, rugs, and other stuff. When I asked why, she gave me ‘the look.’ She must have learned it from Isolde and Anora, although Morrigan was pretty good with the old stink-eye. I even had to work out a budget with her. She wasn’t this worked up when we were at Soldier’s Peak or when we first arrived at the Vigil.”_

Stroud stopped reading to shake his head at his Commander’s naivety, “Alistair has much to learn about women.” Varel nodded his head in agreement.

 

“Even I know that as far as Lady Jannasilane’s concerned this is their first place which is just theirs. She wants it to reflect _her_ family, not the Wardens, not even the Arling,” Garevel rolled his eyes.

 

_“I’ve decided to accompany Mhairi and Teagan part of the way to Highever. I want to talk to Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving about working with us in Lothering. Lothering suffered so much from the Blight . . . I think it can only benefit all of Ferelden as well as the Wardens if the Circle helps to research how to heal the land and deal with any lingering effects from the darkspawn presence. Maker knows it might help a lot of people, and Lothering is mostly deserted. The Chantry stands, as does an old windmill. It’s enough for a start._

_One of Sergeant, I mean Captain, Kylon’s men was hurt during the battle at Denerim and can’t take permanent guard duty. The Captain has tried to find ways to use him in an administrative capacity, but as time progresses there is less need. He suggested I hire him to stay at the Denerim house as my seneschal and security. I have to agree that it’s not wise to leave the place uninhabited when we’re not there. I met him. Officer Markel is a mature, steady man who doesn’t want charity and chafes to be stuck behind a desk. Who wouldn’t? Janna and I like him. Kylon would never have recommended him if he wasn’t discreet as well as responsible. Varel, would you come to Denerim and teach him what he needs to know? I don’t think it will take long. Arl Eamon has volunteered a couple of his people to help out, if needed. Warden-Constable Stroud and Captain Garevel won’t destroy the place while you’re gone._

_Speaking of Arl Eamon, he is now Arl of Denerim and Teagan is the Arl of Redcliffe. It makes sense, Isolde doesn’t want to go back to Redcliffe and Eamon is proving invaluable to Anora and Blake. If anybody can change the reputation of the Arling of Denerim, it’s Eamon. He’s been able to capitalize on our connections in the Alienage to build better relations with the elves, now that they are under his jurisdiction, more or less. I bet you’re getting impatient with my rambling, so . . ._

_We were with Blake, but here is the official announcement:_

> _“Blah, blah blah so announce . . . ‘Between the hours of eight and nine in the morning of the 29 th day of the 6th month in the year 9:32 Dragon our beloved Queen did give birth to a baby son. Mother and child are healthy and doing well. Their Majesties are suspending all court activities until the new month in order to celebrate the new addition to their family. The date of the christening will be announced soon.’ And more blah blah blah.”_

_Blake, His Majesty, is thrilled. Janna says Anora is just as happy. The christening won’t be for at least a month, to give the nobility time to attend if they wish. You know they will._

_Fergus is beaming like a proud uncle. He’ll stay for three or four days before leaving for Highever with Ser Mhairi, and me tagging along behind. He won't be there very long before returning but it'll be enough for her to get started. If you decide to come to Denerim with Arkavy, Varel, you should get here before I leave. If you decide not to come, just send a message with, I think he’s Levi’s third cousin twice removed or something like that. We’re coming home after baby Whatsit is christened and paraded before the nobles. Now I hear Janna, I think she wants me to move furniture. Again._

_Furniture mover and sometime Warden-Commander, Alistair_

_P.S. Does this mean Oghren won the pool again?_

_P.P.S. Janna says to tell you all that she and Marty say ‘hi’ and I should stop procrastinating. She is so bossy._

_P.P.P.S. William Duncan Bryce Gareth Cousland”_

“I hope Alistair did not let little girl read his letter before he sent it,” Stroud chuckled and opened the bottom drawer of the desk where he knew the Commander kept brandy and some glasses. “Gentlemen,” he poured for each of them, “To the health of young Prince William. May he bring as much peace and prosperity to Ferelden as he does joy to his parents.”

 

“Hear, hear,” Varel and Garevel agreed and clinked their glasses.

 

“Maker’s breath,” Garevel put down his glass abruptly, “Oghren did win the pool, I’m sure of it. He’ll be even more insufferable.” He sighed, “To Oghren’s unexpected acumen.”


	111. Surprise, There’s Trouble in Kirkwall

“I appreciate you filling in for Stroud, Commander. It will be an honor to work with the Hero of Ferelden and his lady,” Commander Kevain of Ansburg bowed to Jannasilane. He came to Amaranthine to talk to Stroud about a mission he wanted the senior Warden to join since Stroud was more familiar with the area around Kirkwall from his years of recruiting in the Free Marches. Unfortunately, Jean-Marc was still recovering from a collapse in Kal’Hirol that broke his leg. Even the legendary healing powers of the Grey Wardens weren’t enough for him to be able to assist. However, his recovery might be slower thanks to the ‘help’ he received from young Martelle.

 

“Since you’ll be in charge it’ll practically be a vacation. I know we won’t have time for sightseeing but I will enjoy seeing some of the Free Marches. The only other time I was out of Ferelden I ended up in Weisshaupt and didn’t see much at all,” Alistair replied.

 

Jannasilane sniffed, “Which is why I go with you, to make sure history does not repeat.”

 

Alistair looked at her slyly, “Are you sure it isn’t to make sure I don’t run off with a pretty Free Marcher girl?”

 

“Perhaps it is time to let you know my secret plan, my Ali,” she shook her head sorrowfully. “I have heard much of the handsomeness of the strong men in the Marches and I wish to see for myself. You be a good boy with your Free Marcher girl, if one will have you.”

 

“Ouch, you’ll pay for that,” Alistair promised.

 

Seeing that his former Commander looked somewhat dazed by their play, Stroud interjected, “Since Carver lived in Kirkwall you should take him. He does know the surrounding area well and it will be good experience for him.”

 

“So speaks the Professor of Wardenology,” Alistair grinned. “I bow to your wisdom.”

 

Oghren joined them in the library, bringing Martelle, Nugflutter and another ball of fluff with him, “Yo, Cherryplum, brought your daughter back. She and Strake had a good time over at Felsi’s place. He’s a real fan of hers and her dog,” he shook his head, “a dwarf boy likin’ a ball of fluff, ain’t natural.” He didn’t really mean it, he was happy that Felsi was running the small inn nearby so he could see his son. “We took a peek at Poorfella’s puppies, they’re a scrappy lot. Be causing trouble in no time, heh heh, just like their daddy during the Blight. G’night Nuglet.”

 

“Night, Oggie,” Martelle beamed at the redheaded dwarf. She crawled into her father’s lap and stared at the stranger curiously.

 

“Marty, say hello to Commander Kevain. He came to ask for our help,” Alistair explained. “Commander, this is our daughter Martelle, her dog Pinktara and Janna’s dog Nugflutter.”

 

“Hello, ManderKev,” she replied politely, “You know my daddy?”

 

Warden-Commander Kevain smiled at the little girl, “A little. I am better acquainted with Warden Stroud; he worked with me for several years before coming to Ferelden.”

 

“Is your leg better, Twodaddy?” She frowned a little, “Can we have tea now?”

 

“You, Miss Dirtface, need a bath, and your little dog, too,” Alistair said.

 

“But Daddy, Twodaddy needs tea to feel better,” Martelle began to pout.

 

Stroud smiled at her gravely, “We shall have two teas tomorrow, baby girl; one in the morning and then our regular one in the afternoon. You can tell me everything you did today with Strake.”

 

“I’m not a baby.”

 

“True, I shall have to start calling you big girl, won’t I?”

 

“My Mommy’s bigger,” Martelle giggled.

 

“Yes, but I have been calling her little girl since we met and she’s too old for me to change it now,” he stroked his mustache, hiding his smile at Jannasilane’s eye roll.

 

“She is old,” her daughter agreed.

 

Jannasilane bit her lip to stop the laughter threatening to bubble up, “It’s getting late and we need to get all that dirt off. No snack until every inch of you is squeaky clean. Daddy can give Pinktara a bath.”

 

“Nuh uh, she doesn’t like me. She bites,” Alistair whined. “I’ll give Martypants her bath and _you_ take care of the little fluffer.”

 

“Don’t worry, Daddy, Mommy kisses boo boos to make them all better.” She got down and walked over to Stroud, “G’night Twodaddy,” she lifted her face for a kiss.

 

He kissed her forehead, “Goodnight, big girl. We will speak tomorrow.” He watched her pick up her little dog and walk away with her parents.

 

“Pinktara? Twodaddy?” Kevain couldn’t help asking.

 

“The little dog was a name-day present from her godmother, Leliana. When Alistair saw her all wrapped up in a pink blanket and wearing a pink bow, he said he was surprised the dog wasn’t wearing a pink tiara. Martelle was so tickled at the thought that she named her new companion Pinktara. As for Twodaddy, I am her godfather. We were trying to explain what that meant and as far as she is concerned it means a second father.”

 

“I have not had much experience with children; I was quite surprised to learn the Arl-Commander _was_ a father,” Kevain sipped delicately from his wine glass.

 

_“You would be even more so if you knew the truth,”_ Stroud mused deep in his own thoughts. “The little girl’s father was Duncan, and he was a Warden of some years at the time. That, perhaps, is the true miracle. In that light, the advent of Martelle is not so surprising.” He decided it was best to change the subject, “The First will not be happy that you are taking Alistair and the little girl with you. Be careful, my friend, we know he has a tendency to hold a grudge.”

 

Kevain smiled, “Things have changed since Alistair’s ‘visit’ to Weisshaupt. His open declaration of independence and the news of his kidnapping changed the way most Commander’s deal with our Anderfels brethren. We may not have broken away as did Ferelden, but we have more autonomy. Now, Amaz deals with the politics in the Anderfels while the High Constable makes the actual decisions for the Order.” His smile faded, “I have yet to decide exactly how much to reveal to my Fereldan brother, even most of my senior Wardens do not know, it is enough that whatever my missing man found could have repercussions for every Grey Warden on Thedas. He was unusually cryptic, even for him, in the few messages he did send. I worry, yes, I worry very much.”

 

One week later, he and the Fereldans were 30 miles outside Kirkwall, between the City of Chains and Ostwick. “We’re starting here,” Kevain answered Alistair’s unvoiced query, “because I told Charles to return via this route instead of going over the mountains or by sea or any other way available to him. The plan all along was to meet him at one of these small cabins hidden in the foothills. There are not many towns and those who travel the coast do so primarily by boat, limiting the chance of meeting curious friends or enemies. Six of my Wardens have been carefully searching between one hideaway and the next, if we see them all then we know Charles did not make it this far. They were not to venture farther until I arrived with Stroud.”

 

“I hope they won’t be disappointed not to see their former comrade,” Alistair sighed heavily. He didn’t bother trying to get more information. He respected the other Commander’s right to keep his secrets until he was ready to share them.

 

“Right, because it’s always such a letdown to meet the _Hero_ of _Ferelden_ ,” Carver said sarcastically. “They probably won’t even see me or Cupcake.”

 

Alistair pretended to consider Carver’s ‘complaint.’ “Hmm, they might see you, you’re big enough not to be hidden by my shadow . . . Janna however . . . Janna, maybe you should ride on my shoulders, or Carver’s, make sure they see you both.”

 

“They will be honored to meet two people who fought the Archdemon. And they will be most interested in hearing about this Architect creature and the ancient dwarven thaig young Carver explored,” Kevain courteously answered. He was starting to get used to the Fereldan Wardens’ odd sense of humor and lack of strict protocol. _“I think I see why Alistair’s plan was so successful at Weisshaupt.”_

 

The Free Marcher Wardens were surprised to see three people, including one non-Warden, instead of Stroud but as Commander Kevain predicted, more than happy to meet the Grey Warden who ended the Blight. They were willing to accept Carver, new as he was, simply because he was in such respected company. “Warden Carver, now that we are all together, is there anything we should know about Kirkwall before we arrive?”

 

Carver blinked in surprise that somebody was asking for _his_ advice and thought for a moment. “Well,” he began, “the city itself is divided into Hightown, Lowtown, the Docks, and the Gallows, where the mages and templars live. Below Kirkwall is Darktown, where most of the non-organized criminals and the desperate try to survive. The City Guard doesn’t get down there as much as Guard-Captain Aveline wishes, but they are stretched thin already. Below Darktown, is an ancient sewer system, an honest man has no business down there and a sane one won’t go down without a small company. The Carta and the Coterie are the, I guess you could call them the ‘established’ criminal organizations. And believe me they are organized. When I was there we earned a fair amount of coin getting rid of various upstart criminal groups, which doesn’t mean we worked for the Coterie, but these groups were more open and vicious trying to establish their own crooked niche.”

 

“But every city has criminals,” the young Warden shook his head. “I don’t know if Kirkwall is worse or not, just based on that.” He frowned a little when he looked at Commander Kevain, “You may be glad to have these two with you,” he nodded his head towards Alistair and Jannasilane. “I’ve known mages all my life. I don’t understand magic, but I also never understood why people were so afraid of it. Not until Kirkwall. At times, I felt we were tripping over blood mages and demons wherever we went. They even managed to possess some templar recruits.”

 

“That is bad . . . and disturbing, really, really disturbing,” now Alistair frowned. “A demon would need powerful magic to take possession of a non-mage, or be summoned and forced into a normal person . . . but a templar recruit . . . that should practically be impossible. From the very first day recruits begin training to strengthen their will against magic and basic resistance techniques. If your man ran across some of these blood mages or abominations,” he frowned even harder.

 

“I hate blood magic. It makes my skin itch,” Jannasilane complained.

 

“I’ll be glad to scratch such a lovely woman’s itch,” one of the Free Marchers suggested playfully. He shrugged when Alistair glared at him.

 

“Janna should lead us, at least until we enter the city. She can sense,” Alistair interrupted himself to turn to his love, “Janna, would you be able to sense Warden Charles if he’s dead? Oh, sorry, that wasn’t exactly tactful,” he added to his Warden brethren.

 

Jannasilane tilted her head thoughtfully as she looked up at her big warrior, “I do not know, my Ali, this is truth. Riordan was alive when I sensed him through the darkspawn at Ostagar. I did not sense any other Grey Wardens, even though they must have been among the dead we found. Perhaps their Wardenness was much less, if not gone, after death? And that is why I could not sense them among so many living darkspawn?” All the Free Marchers were looking at her closely.

 

“We sense darkspawn, she senses Grey Wardens,” Alistair explained calmly. “We think it might be because her father was an experienced Grey Warden. She knew Blake and I were Wardens before we had a chance to tell her, and neither of us had any of the Order’s gear.”

 

“I am beginning to think your travels were more interesting than the final battle at Denerim,” Commander Kevain studied them both. “Certainly this ability of your young lady’s shall be helpful. In light of what Carver has told us, we perhaps should expand our search and look outside the City proper for Charles’ base, if not Charles himself. Any thoughts?”

 

“If he’s not injured, or only slightly injured, he could easily be on the Wounded Coast. There are plenty of caves, big and small, in which to lay low. If he was more badly hurt, he might have gone to Sundermount,” Carver said doubtfully. “When I was here, a Dalish clan was camped there. They lost their halla and were waiting to hear from some other clans, so they might still be there. They’re a suspicious bunch, and definitely don’t think much of ‘shems.’ However, if he found a place nearby, they _might_ trade with him; their Keeper might even have healed him some. She’s a bit more approachable. Both are this side of Kirkwall, and close to the city.”

 

“Then we shall explore the Coast first, after which four of you will remain camped where Charles will see you if he returns while the rest of us go to Sundermount. Warden Carver, you know this clan best and shall go to Sundermount. We will regroup at the Coast before continuing,” the Warden-Commander of the Free Marches decided. They had no luck in either location and finally approached the city.

 

The closer they got, the more uneasy Jannasilane became. Finally, Alistair stopped her shortly before they reached the gates, “What is it, my love? Was it those demons on the beach? Do you want a mana cleanse? It’s a good thing you were with us or we might have walked right on top of them. I really hate how they can just pop up behind you.” The Free Marchers agreed. Her warning followed by Alistair’s smite allowed them to quickly dispatch the group instead of being severely injured in an attack.

 

“I do not know, my Ali,” she complained. “I only know something feels . . . off.”

 

“Well, my lady, your sense has already proved helpful. We shall be extra wary going into the city,” Commander Kevain smiled. When they did enter Kirkwall, via Darktown, the city was under attack. “Damn,” the normally quiet Commander began swearing vehemently. “We must try to avoid engaging; Charles is still our primary concern.”

 

Alistair wanted to argue. He didn’t like seeing Qunari warriors attacking all these people, but he wasn’t the leader of this expedition. He understood his fellow Warden-Commander’s reasoning and he had volunteered to assist. Certainly, he wasn’t going to repeat his mistake with Blake years before. Jannasilane and Carver didn’t look any happier, but they didn’t argue.

 

Hawke, Anders, Varric, Fenris and Aveline were battling through Lowtown. The Arishok finally let loose all the anger he built up during his years in Kirkwall and attacked. Bands of Qunari were all over the city, and in Lowtown, several groups of elves were helping them. “Blasted Carta,” Hawke growled, “be nice if for once they were helping defend the city instead of looting it.”

 

Anders marveled, not for the first time, at the tall woman who was their leader. Her hair was a rich, deep red with soft curls that just barely reached her shoulders. Her bangs needed to be trimmed and she impatiently brushed them aside. Somehow her face was both elegant and pixieish and an endless source of fascination to him. That she was a powerful mage and fierce fighter who was loyal to her friends only added to her attractions. Nobody looking at the slim woman realized just how strong she was. He sighed, now was not the time to pursue his intermittent courtship. “Anybody need healing before the next kerfuffle?”

 

“Kerfuffle, mage?” Fenris sneered while Hawke grinned. Yet he held out his arm and grudgingly allowed Anders to heal him before they moved on to the next battle.

 

They were in time to assist some Grey Wardens who were battling a large band of Qunari including one of their leashed mages, a Saarebas. The dust was settling and Anders was able to get a closer look at one of them, he looked familiar. Before he could decide, a small woman leaped into his arms, calling his name and soundly kissing him on the mouth. He smiled and kissed her back, “I remember those lips. It’s good to see you, Poppet. I thought I recognized Alistair over there, even under the helmet. What are you doing here?”

 

Jannasilane remained in his arms, looking closely at the changes in her old friend. “Warden business,” she shrugged and then scolded him, “You have not been taking care of yourself, my Anders. You are thinner, still handsome but definitely thinner. You can come home to us, Anders my friend. You will always be one of my Wardens,” she stroked the side of his face in concern.

 

“You and Alistair have always been good friends. I should probably put you down before he gets jealous,” but he made no move to do so. Holding her was like holding a piece of himself he thought lost. Hawke was irritated by his attentions to the stranger but also intrigued by the glimpse of a younger and more carefree Anders.

 

Alistair came forward then to shake hands with Anders after Janna was once again by his side, “Janna’s right, you’re welcome to come back any time. We even have Pounce with us again. I wish we could stay and help, but you know, Warden stuff and all that.”

 

Fenris was irritated with the mage’s behavior, _“He’s been chasing Hawke for years and now he holds onto some other woman in front of her.”_ He was also curious about these Wardens and moved closer in spite of himself.  These two did not seem to be the reason the mage left. But then, they didn’t act like any Wardens he had met in the past.

 

Hawke thought the same, “You’re not quite what I expected from Grey Wardens. I thought you were all stern and grim like that group we found in the Deep Roads when Carver fell ill.”

 

Another Warden came forward; he’d been doing some scouting. “A lot of them are, but they aren’t the HoF, the Hero of Ferelden.” Anders and Jannasilane snickered as Alistair rolled his eyes at the title. “The imp isn’t a Warden at all, but I can’t imagine the Fereldan order without her. Hello Varric, sister,” Carver growled as he pulled off his helmet, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you in the middle of chaos.”

 

Jannasilane put her hands on her hips and stamped her foot, “Warden Carver Malcolm Hawke! You will not be rude to your sister, do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, little mother,” he sighed. Carver turned his back on her and faced his sister. He winked and grinned, “I apologize, Sis.”

 

Hawke threw her arms around her brother, “Carver! I am so glad to see you. I’ve been so worried about you, wondering how you were doing. I have missed you.” Then she whispered in his ear, “You said that just to annoy her.”

 

“What can I say? I like seeing her bosom in action,” he whispered back. “You missed me even though I acted like a jerk most of the time?” he smiled when she smacked the back of his head just like she used to do. “I missed you too, big sister. I wish I could stay and chat but we have business.”

 

“More important than saving the city?”

 

“The First Warden didn’t appreciate our involvement in Ferelden politics. We’re not supposed to do that sort of thing. But I can give you this; a friend of ours gave it to me some time ago. He has a knack for turning up helpful trinkets,” Alistair handed her an amulet brimming with healing and other properties. Then he motioned to Janna and Carver that they needed to rejoin the other Wardens.

 

Janna let go of Anders ear, “You remember what I told you.” She hugged the mage and left him.

 

Varric was looking at Anders; this brimming with secret amusement mood was a new one. “So, Blondie,” he began, “your old cutie pie seemed to be scolding you.”

 

“She’s my friend,” Anders grinned at the dwarf, “and she was scolding Justice, not me.”

 

“She was scolding your demon?” Fenris asked in disbelief.

 

Tambra watched her brother turn to leave, “Wait! Carver, I haven’t told you about Mother.”

 

Sadness washed over his face, “I know; and I know you did everything you could to save her. It just wasn’t meant to be. If I can, I’ll come back for a proper visit.” He left then.

 

Jannasilane moved towards Hawke and smiled in sympathy, “I am sorry for your loss and your pain. Carver has told me much about her. In time, the good memories will be what you remember most, this I know. As far as this mess,” she waved her hands nonchalantly, “you will prevail. Anders is with you and Carver talks much of your abilities. They are only Qunari,” she shrugged dismissively and left with the Wardens.

 

As one Aveline, Fenris, Hawke and Varric turned to a grinning Anders. “Did she just say ‘they are only Qunari’?” Aveline sputtered in disbelief.

 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Blondie, but now -”

 

Hawke finished Varric’s sentence, “but now we have a city to save. I wonder what the Arishok would make of your friends?” she asked rhetorically even as they were running through the streets and alleys of Kirkwall.

 

When the Wardens were outside of Kirkwall, they stopped and looked back at the burning city. Out of respect for the anguish on Carver’s face regarding his sister Alistair and Jannasilane moved a short distance away. She didn’t have to say anything; Alistair knew what she wanted. “We’ll come back, my love. Soon, or as soon as we can, anyway. Carver can check on his sister and you can check on Anders, although you don’t have to stay in his arms so long next time.”

 

“But he feels so much better than Kirkwall, my Ali,” she teased. Then she hugged him, “I love you, my Ali, always.”

 

“I love you, too, always,” he said just before bending down to kiss her.


	112. Let’s Say Hello

More than a year later, the Warden-Commander was looking out his office window at Janna and their daughter. He smiled as he watched them play with Pinktara’s puppies. Nugflutter was also watching, the proud papa wanting to make sure the humans were careful with his babies. Strake and his mabari were off to the side getting some lessons. He grinned, remembering when the young dwarf boy imprinted with one of Poorfella and General Lee’s offspring. _“I don’t know whose expression was funnier: Felsi’s absolute horror, Oghren’s mix of pride and consternation, or Blake’s whatever-that-was. Nobody expected one of the pups to imprint on such a young child, much less Oghren’s boy. Oghren might get his mabari chariot after all. Blake is right about one thing, Strake and his Brownie need proper mabari training. Maybe I could arrange something with Fergus and Mhairi, she’s got one of Brownie’s sisters and the Cousland kennels are among the best in Ferelden.”_

Nathaniel walked into his office, “Arl-Commander, I have the latest reports from Stroud. You were right about Harami not being ready to deal with the Dalish on a permanent basis.”

 

“Maybe his going at all is a sign he’s healing. Some losses hit hard and don’t ever heal. I know Dalish are finicky about outside influences, and they’re not immune to bigotry, but casting him out just because he married a city elf . . . well, if it were me and Janna . . .” he shook his head. “I hope he didn’t do anything.” He began reading Stroud’s report.

 

_“Commander, Harami came to me and said he cannot stay in Ostagar. Too many of the Dalish speak disparagingly of non-Dalish elves, even though Keeper Lanaya is originally from Denerim, and he struggles to maintain his temper. Every slur reminds him of his late wife and the actions of his clan. For the sake of the Order, he said that, much as he would like to live up to your hopes, a long-term posting here is out of the question. I agree. Therefore, I am leaving Warden Mira in charge with Warden Zeke and Cousin Trey to assist her. Warden Saykor is going to stay as well, for a time. He says since the Tower of Ishal and much of the surrounding structures are dwarven made it is possible that they could yield information even after these many centuries.”_

“He’s always so formal in his reports,” Alistair said.

 

“Yes, so different from what he’s like in person. I’ve always said Stroud was one wild and crazy guy,” Nate spoke with only the slightest tinge of amusement. Alistair grinned in appreciation.

 

_“Warden’s Pint is doing well under Cousin Mhairi’s administration. It actually turns a profit, a nice bonus for our Grey Wardens, especially since we only hoped to mitigate the costs of these outpost taverns. Ser Mhairi, or perhaps I should say the Teyrna, has established an impressive information network. The local farmers made sure to express how much safer they feel knowing Wardens are close and vigilant. All are happy that Fergus Cousland remarried and has an heir. One cannot turn around in the village of Highever without hearing stories of young Master Warren Bryce Cousland._

_The Griffon in Lothering is doing no better than we expected; people are understandably reluctant to traverse an area still visibly affected by the Blight. It is unfortunate Knight-Captain Greagoir did not wish to allow a small group of mages and templars to remain, but the small group he does allow to visit regularly report some interesting findings. I believe you met their leader, Ines Arancia, in the Wending Wood a few years ago. I asked her to send you a detailed account, at which point she grumbled something uncomplimentary and not worth repeating. One man who returned, Barlin, claims to know you but he talks more about Qunari and giant spiders than darkspawn?_

_Some promising recruits will accompany us to Gwaren. It is quite a distance and our undoubtedly cool welcome will test their resolve. If all is, if not well then satisfactory, we shall return to Denerim where I shall collect any recruits waiting and then make my way to Soldier’s Peak._

_Warden-Constable Jean-Marc Stroud, Professor of Wardenology”_

 

Alistair put the report on his desk and seemed to study Nate, but he was actually reflecting on the past. “You know, Nate, I’ve been Warden-Commander and the Arl of Amaranthine for, let’s see, over five years now. Except for a rather rocky start the first year-and-a-half I think I’ve done a fair job.”

 

“You call the Architect and the Weisshaupt/Woolsey conspiracy just a rocky start?” Nate raised his eyebrows at the warrior across the desk. “Then I’d have to agree that you’ve done passably well for somebody carrying the burden of two demanding commands. Good thing you have such broad shoulders.”

 

The Arl-Commander batted his eyelashes, “Why Nate, I didn’t think you noticed.” The rogue replied with a rude noise, causing Alistair to chuckle. “Anyway, what I’m getting at is that I’m thing of going away for a while and leaving you in charge.”

 

Nate blinked. Alistair had never once hinted that he wanted a break, _“though, really, if anybody deserves it, he does. He’s carried more weight on his shoulders than most, and rarely complained.”_ “Of course, Commander, I should have suggested it myself.”

 

“Why?” the Commander of the Grey snorted. “I don’t think vacations are mentioned anywhere in the Grey Warden manual. Somehow, they don’t seem to go with the whole being forever vigilant bit. I’m not, I mean I want to take Janna away for a short time, a few weeks. Two miscarriages since Martelle . . . she broods about them when she thinks nobody notices. But _I_ notice. It doesn’t help that when she’s pregnant she has nightmares about, well, you know.”

 

“Yes, I know,” the rogue and the warrior were silent for a few minutes. More than once she’d awakened a number of them with her screams. People, himself included, assumed the nightmares she had while pregnant with Martelle were because of Alistair’s kidnapping. Alistair, Stroud, and, surprisingly, Oghren were the most affected; the dwarf remembered when they returned to Arl Eamon’s estate. Later, early in her second pregnancy after one particularly vicious nightmare, the dwarf told a select few that before the Landsmeet which overturned Loghain she and the Wardens were ‘guests’ at Fort Drakon. One more crime to lay on his father’s head.

 

Alistair shook himself, “Anyway, I thought maybe Kirkwall and then Cumberland; we both want to see Nevarra. She hasn’t said anything but she’ll feel better if she can check on Anders and I’m sure Carver wants to visit his sister. Oghren can come with us. I don’t want Anora or Isolde scolding me because I didn't take ‘appropriate’ guards with us. If Fergus and Felsi agree, we’ll leave Martelle, Strake and Brownie at Castle Cousland. The boy needs to learn how to train and care for his mabari properly before there’s trouble, won’t hurt Marty to learn a few things, either. I’m sure she’ll soon have people wrapped around her little finger.”

 

 “She does take after her mother, in a quieter way,” Nathaniel grinned. “Sounds like an excellent plan to me, Commander, although if you’re calling Oghren ‘appropriate’ you may need a vacation more than you think. Tell Anders I said ‘hello.’ I have no doubt Fergus will agree, since thanks to you, he and Mhairi were able to get married.” He left Alistair to his plans.

 

Nathaniel overstated Alistair’s involvement, but he did make it easier for the two of them to get married, a fact that Fergus mentioned in his reply.

 

_“My friend and cousin,_

_Of course, you’re welcome to leave Martelle with us. You and my ‘little sister’ deserve some time to yourselves. As for Strake and Brownie, they both need proper training. Bring them, and an adult willing to take the time necessary to train and care for your mabari. Strake is too young to understand that mabari need discipline and training as much as love. I remember Blake; he was only a few years older when General Lee chose him. At that time, he was more indulgent than disciplined, with some sorry results._

_I owe you more than I can express, Alistair. Three years ago, I understood but was still angry when you refused to release Mhairi from her oath, but now I believe it was best for her. I know Mother and father would approve her sense of honor, her integrity and her recognition of duty. A part of her would always feel she didn’t live up to her own standards and that she let you down if I had had my way then. She admires you greatly, sometimes I think even more than her husband, so your compromise that she stays bound by her oath as a Cousin but permanently in charge of Warden’s Pint was for the best._

_Fergus Cousland, proud husband and father”_

Alistair thought Felsi would be harder to convince, but he approached her at a fortuitous moment; Brownie had just overturned a table with an entire day’s worth of baking. She was madder than a wet hen, so angry that his Janna seemed tranquil in comparison. He helped her clean up the mess and explained what he wanted. She looked at him, “If it means that I don’t break my son’s heart by killing that sodding spawn of a deepstalker, you can take him and that creature with you. You better bring him back in one healthy piece,” she waved her cleaver for emphasis.

 

And now, now, Jannasilane closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, reveling in the wind and the salt spray. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so relaxed and at peace with herself. Strong hands grasped the railing on either side of her, fencing her in. She smiled and leaned back against the familiar presence, “Thank you, my Ali,” she said softly.

 

“You’re welcome,” he smiled down at her, even though she couldn’t see him. “I thank me, too.” She laughed. “Out here, at the very end of the bow, we could almost be alone,” his voice grew husky. One hand let go of the railing and he caressed her face with his knuckles before trailing his fingers down her neck, shoulders, and bosom. His body shielded them from any prying eyes. “If we were really alone I would do more than cup and stroke your beautiful breasts until you were quivering uncontrollably,” he said suggestively.

 

“What, what would you do?” she asked breathlessly. She could feel his manhood growing behind her and shimmied against him, causing him to emit a muffled groan.

 

“I’d remove your armor until you were naked in the breeze,” he could picture it, the sun and wind and salt spray lightly touching her skin from head to toe. “My hands would be all over you, not one inch would be missed, before I started rubbing you just so, maybe, if you were good, slipping a finger inside you just the way you like. Then, when you were wet and wanting, I would kiss and lick the salt from your flesh until you begged. Finally, I would bend you over the railing and make you scream for the Maker when I took you.”

 

She shivered, “Y-y-you’d be screaming with me,” she gasped.

 

His hand clenched over her breast, “Oh, yeah,” he muttered. He moved his hand away, “I think we should go back to our cabin to finish this discussion.”

 

“Discussion? Is that what you call it,” she teased. She turned around and embraced him, nuzzling his torso. He lifted her in his arms and sat her on the top rail so he could more easily devour her mouth with his.

 

“Yo, Commander, the Captain says ‘take it to your cabin,’” Oghren belched unsteadily. The sky was bad enough, but all this water . . . and the swaying deck, urgh. “Course, if you want an audience I’m willing to oblige,” he leered.

 

Alistair sighed, “I suppose I’ll walk more easily now.” Jannasilane snickered while he helped her down. She blushed when she saw Oghren staring at them.

 

“And, uh, we should reach Kirkwall first thing in the morning. Captain says you might want to get up early and watch as we approach.” The dwarf shuddered when he looked at the sea. As quickly as he could he returned to the cabin he shared with Carver. Anything was better than all that endless space. Sometimes he really missed Orzammar.

 

The sun was barely over the horizon, gilding the entrance to Kirkwall. “I hope our Anders is well,” Jannasilane worried as she stared up at the giant twin statues. She could feel cold despair emanating from them, echoes of old and terrible magic. Alistair rubbed her shoulders. He didn’t like those statues either. Even the crew, who must have passed them dozens of times, was subdued.

 

“By the Ancestors, never thought I’d be so sodding happy to plant my feet on the surface. Even your fluff ball seems happier,” Oghren snorted.

 

Carver grinned down at the dwarf, “You’ll feel better once we get to the Hanged Man. Sis is as likely to be there as she is at home. If she’s not there, we can maybe get rooms, some lousy ale, and local gossip. All her friends are likely to show up at one point or another.”

 

Oghren squinted at him suspiciously, “Isn’t she Champion or somethin’ equally daft? And lives in a mansion? Why don’t you want to go there?”

 

“She bought it for Mother; I never lived there. It just isn’t my home. Besides, I prefer Lowtown to all the fancy nobs in Hightown,” the younger Hawke shrugged uncomfortably.

 

“Yeah, deshyrs and nobs, one’s as useless as the other. Good thing the Commander’s only one 'cuz of a technicality,” Oghren chortled.

 

“Yes, glad I’m not completely worthless,” Alistair remarked drily. They were moving steadily when he saw a huge statue. He drew closer and stared, “That’s new, I think.”

 

They read the commemorative plaque, “Ooo, I hope your sister doesn’t look like that rock. Bet Sten would have one of his stoic hissy fits if he saw it. Workmanship isn’t the worst I’ve seen,” the dwarf remarked.

 

“It’s big,” Janna commented politely. Privately, she thought it rather tasteless albeit noticeable.

 

Carver laughed, “Cupcake, compared to you Nugflutter is big.” He laughed again when she stuck her tongue out at him.

 

“Children,” Alistair admonished and rolled his eyes.

 

“Better hope not, Hof, that doesn’t say much for you,” Carver replied with a straight face.

 

Oghren punched him on the arm, “Nice one, kid.”

 

“Maker,” Alistair replied after a startled moment. “I don’t get any respect.” They all laughed.

 

“Reminds me of home,” Oghren approved after taking a deep breath of the Hanged Man’s ‘ambiance.’

 

Alistair surveyed the crowd for any signs of trouble. One or two were eyeing his Janna but they quickly looked away when he stared at them. A slight commotion in the corner caught his attention. He smiled and nudged Jannasilane, “Sound familiar?”

 

She moved so she could see. She smiled and looked up at him. “Isabela,” they chorused and laughed.

 

“I didn’t know you knew Isabela,” Carver remarked. He directed them to the table semi-reserved for Varric’s friends; it had a good view of the door and they could sit with their backs to the wall. If he remembered correctly, they wouldn’t even need to keep a lookout for his former companions. Anybody sitting at what was traditionally ‘their’ table received immediate attention. “While you’re waiting for the ale I’ll go see if Varric is here.” When he returned minutes later, the pirate was already making herself comfortable and causing the Commander and Cupcake to blush furiously while Oghren leered at the tall brunette. Nugflutter sat on the table as if he owned the place. “If Isabela hasn’t already told you, Varric’s not here.” He grinned at the woman who used to tease him continuously, “Buxom and troublesome as ever, I see. Glad to see some things don’t change.”

 

“Well, well, well, Hawke’s little brother all grown up. I never got to tell you I’m sorry about what happened to you in the Deep Roads,” she sobered for half a minute before grinning back at him, “but I think being a Grey Warden suits you. You’re finally as handsome as I thought you could be, once you grew up.”

 

“It has to happen to all of us at some point,” Carver replied, pleased. “So, what’s the news?” She filled them in, including her part in the Qunari debacle that earned Tambra Hawke the title ‘Champion of Kirkwall.’ “You’re lucky my sister is the loyal sort,” he shook his head.

 

“Don’t I know it,” Isabela grimaced in agreement. She frowned at the table, “This developing a conscience bit is very annoying when you’re a pirate. Your sister is a bad influence.” She faced Jannasilane across the table and smiled slightly, a sly smirk, “Kitcat, as I recall I lost a bet to you. I think it’s time for you to collect your winnings.”

 

Jannasilane frowned, “I don’t remember, oh!” She looked at Alistair who was looking just as confused until he saw her blush. He turned red in turn and got a silly smile on his face. “Isabela, it is not necessary, this is truth. I never expected,” she shrugged helplessly, unwilling to explain to the other two Wardens.

 

“Oh no, Kitcat, I may be many things, including a thief, but I am not a welsher,” Isabela was grinning widely. She grabbed Jannasilane by the arm and pulled her upstairs, “Varric lets me keep a few things in his rooms where nobody will bother them. “

 

When they returned downstairs Varric, Anders, and Oghren were trying to get Alistair to tell them about the bet; Hawke and Carver were catching up while Merrill and Carver kept looking at each other; Fenris was watching them all and brooding as usual. He was the first to see the women return. He too wondered about this bet. The Hero of Ferelden was next to notice them. Alistair stood up and stared, gaping at his love. “Oh, you look just like Isabela,” Merrill exclaimed, “only shorter, and your skin isn’t as dark, and your hair has exciting snow white streaks in it and is a lot longer.”

 

“Let’s take this upstairs to my suite and then maybe Rivaini will tell us about this bet,” Varric suggested. He was positively gleeful about the prospect of new stories. Blondie had told him a few things and maybe now he could find out the truth.

 

Alistair was fingering the collar of Jannasilane’s new armor. “Isabela certainly pays her debts well,” he remarked. The armor was modeled after the pirate’s own, but was made out of dragon leather tinted a deep bronze and trimmed with sky-blue silk. The blue collar was a nice background for his golden woman, and her breasts seemed larger and perkier. Fringe around the hem made it slightly more modest than the original. _“I don’t know why, but seeing my Janna in fringe . . . I bet Isabela did that on purpose. No wonder she and Zevran got along.”_ Short boots and fingerless gauntlets completed the set. “Wade will be jealous; you know how he hates to think somebody might be better with armor than he is, or that they got to work with dragon leather instead of him. Better not wear it when we go to Denerim.”

 

“The Champion and the Hero of Ferelden here at the same time. I bet Corff puts up a sign.” Varric was pulling out a deck of cards, “Wicked Grace, anyone? What brings you and Magpie to Kirkwall?”

 

“Ha, another nickname for your collection, Cupcake,” Carver teased. “Maybe you two should have a contest, how many nicknames he’s given against how many you’ve gotten.”

 

“Just a little vacation and can we not talk about this Hero stuff? Just Alistair, please,” he begged.

 

Jannasilane sniffed, “My Ali pretends not to like it when foolish women throw themselves at him.”

 

“Hey, I got the only woman I want, even if she is a quiet, mousy, little thing. No need to hurt their feelings,” Alistair teased.

 

“I am not little.”

 

“Then we better think of something else to call you, ‘Alistair’ is practically synonymous with ‘Hero of Ferelden.’ Let’s see,” Varric began to consider, “you’re the Hero, a Warden-Commander, a bastard prince, an Arl, a former templar, and a man who could have been king . . . you’re one special snowflake.”

 

“I call him Hof, even though he hates it,” Carver suggested with a sly grin for his boss.

 

Oghren chortled, “Dunno kid, I kind of like Snowflake, myself.”

 

“I suppose Hof is better than It,” Alistair sighed. “No respect, no respect at all.”

 

“Oh, you poor thing,” Isabela purred in his ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll respect you, every . . . single . . . inch of you.”

 

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair blushed, “I hate you all.”

 

Everybody laughed, and once Aveline, Donnic and Sebastian joined them, they spent the evening drinking and playing Wicked Grace. Jannasilane proved no better than Merrill but Nugflutter proved surprisingly adept at spotting cheating, to the pirate’s dismay. Carver and Tambra started arguing because he didn’t want to stay with her and Fenris surprised everyone by inviting the Fereldans to stay with him, stating he had plenty of rooms he never used. Of course, this was after several more pints than he usually consumed.

 

“Is it still decorated with dead bodies?” Carver asked.

 

“Only a few in strategic locations, stops people from breaking in,” the elf answered laconically.

 

“What it lacks in style it makes up for in security,” Varric offered his opinion. “I suggest you take him up on it, your belongings will be safe and Broody isn’t nosy enough to go through them.”

 

“Um, thank you, Fenris,” Alistair accepted. He was starting to think this group was as odd as the one he traveled with during the Blight. He felt right at home.


	113. Kirkwall, Day Two

Alistair was the first to wake up. He looked around the bedroom and smiled to himself, remembering Janna’s shocked look when she saw the condition of Fenris’ mansion. _“Bet she starts looking for lemonweed first thing,”_ he thought fondly. _“No wonder nobody breaks in, they’re either afraid the place is haunted or figure there’s nothing left to steal. Although, they might think it a good place to dump a body, maybe I should mention the possibility to our host.”_ He propped himself up on one elbow and just looked at Janna, she was so beautiful in the mornings. He lightly traced her cheeks and lips, then chin, neck and shoulders.

 

Jannasilane stirred in her bedroll, last night she refused to get under those sheets without being able to examine them. She turned her head and smiled sleepily, “Good morning, my love.”

 

“Good morning, love,” he bent his head and kissed her softly. “Oghren is still snoring in his room. Tambra will be here soon, we’re going to go on patrol with Aveline. I don’t know who else is coming. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

 

She shook her head, “No, my Ali, I will go see Bodahn and Sandal. If I catch Anders before he goes to his clinic I can update him privately about what happened in Amaranthine. He deserves to know.”

 

“True; and I certainly didn’t want to explain last night, too many ears. I’ll meet you there,” Alistair stated. He kissed her, sighed theatrically, and left.

 

Now that she was awake, Jannasilane decided she might as well get up and search for something to eat. She’d already figured out that Fenris was an unreliable source, even if he had food she wasn’t going to trust anything stored or prepared in his mansion. _“I bet Bodahn can tell me where I can find something else to eat,”_ she munched on some of their travel rations as she debated waking Oghren. Finally, she decided to knock on his door.

 

“Yeah, whaddaya want?” Oghren bellowed groggily and then flung open the door wearing only his smalls and his giant battle-axe.

 

Jannasilane blushed, in all their travels she’d never seen the dwarf wearing so little, “Er, um, I just wanted to let you know that Alistair left with Carver to go on patrol with Aveline and Tambra.” She kept her eyes above Oghren’s head and frowned just a little, “Well, Carver left at the same time, and I think Fenris as well. I wish to speak with Anders before he leaves for his clinic and do not wish for you to worry. We are all meeting at Hawke’s later, um, that’s it,” she squeaked and scurried away. She just knew Oghren was laughing at her and that he would surely tease her at the first opportunity.

 

Fenris wasn’t gone, however. He heard Oghren banging around some time later and he scowled at the dwarf, demanding an explanation. He was already regretting his invitation from the night before, _“I must have had a lot to drink.”_ Which he had, he didn’t miss the closeness between Jannasilane and Anders, how she seemed to touch him more than anyone except the Hero. That the mage allowed it with Hawke and Alistair right next to him irked him for more reasons than he cared to examine. Were they oblivious? Now the bit was going to see the mage alone. _“It is bad enough that Hawke chooses the abomination above all the men in Kirkwall. I will not stand for him cheating on her with this ‘Poppet,’”_ he sneered. He slammed out of his own mansion, leaving a perplexed and angry dwarf behind him.

 

“. . . so you see, my Anders, Woolsey and the First were working against my Ali. Jean-Marc, Warden Stroud, had no idea that Woolsey creature arranged for an ambush by templars. He was most upset. He even fought her men when they wanted to take me to Weisshaupt. I was most happy to hear that you were safe in the Deep Roads, this is truth.”

 

Anders had been listening to her, in turns astonished, angry, and relieved but at that last statement he burst out laughing, “Most adorable Poppet, I have missed you. I don’t think anybody else in the history of darkspawn has ever said ‘safe in the Deep Roads’ and meant it. I’ll have to remember to tell the Commander your unique perspective.” He continued chuckling in spite of her scowls. “I can’t believe Stroud brought Ser Pounce-a-lot back to the Vigil,” he shook his head in disbelief. “I’m glad you told me, I didn’t know what to think or who to trust. It worked out, you got your Ali back, I found Tambra, and the two of you have a daughter. I bet she’s just like you.”

 

“She is wonderful, this is truth,” Jannasilane smiled, “and my Ali is the most perfect of fathers.” She stopped smiling and bit her lip before adding softly, “but he is not her father in nature.” She couldn’t look at her friend when she admitted this, “He was gone for so long and, and . . .”

 

“I understand,” Anders replied softly. He took her hands in his, “I’m sorry, Sweeting; I had no clue based on the way he talks about her. She’s a lucky little girl and in time I’m sure you and Alistair will give her a brother or sister.”

 

Instead of reassuring her, Jannasilane got quieter. “I worry, my Anders,” she admitted, “two times since Martelle I have become with child only to lose it. I thought that, that when I lost our child i-in Fort Drakon it was because of what they d-did to me. What if the problem is with me, or me and my Ali? Is that even possible?”

 

“Oh, Poppet,” Anders murmured sympathetically, “Are you afraid that something happened or that you just can’t carry _Alistair’s_ child?” He didn’t wait for her answer, “Come with me, I’ll give you an exam right now so you don’t have to worry anymore.” He had a quick word with Bodahn and then led her upstairs. He briefly considered taking her into the room he shared with Hawke until he remembered how they left it and decided to use Leandra’s room. He knew that, even though Tambra still wasn’t ready to change anything, Bodahn kept it clean and aired.

 

Fenris’ anger propelled him through the streets of Hightown, for once not worrying about keeping a low profile. Nor did he bother knocking on Hawke’s door; instead, he banged it open and confronted a startled Bodahn. “Where are they?” he snarled.

 

The dwarf blinked, “Who, messere? Mistress Hawke left earlier this morning to accompany her brother and the Hero of Ferelden. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you waited in the library . . .” Just then laughter drifted down the stairs. Fenris snarled and leapt up the stairs followed by a worried dwarf and Nugflutter.  

 

“I do adore you, Poppet,” Anders was still laughing at the image of the dour Stroud wearing a pink sash and playing tea with a little girl while Ser Pounce-a-lot glared at the senior Warden. He gave her a hug, “I would love to -”

 

“Love to what, mage?” Fenris spat after crashing through the door. Seeing the abomination on the bed with the Hero’s curvy bit filled him with rage. He was so angry he ignored that Anders was dressed and that Jannasilane was wearing a robe. All he saw was his rival on the bed with his arms around another woman. That the embrace was friendly rather than romantic completely bypassed him. He stalked to the bed. Anders moved protectively in front of Jannasilane, further enraging the elf. “If you think I’m going to let you disrespect Hawke in her own home with some other female, I don’t care how attractive or unusual she is, you are sadly mistaken!”

 

“You’re wrong, Fenris,” Anders said softly, trying to diffuse the situation though, frankly, he would like nothing more than to shoot a very large lightning bolt up the other man’s ass. Or a fireball, that would work, too. He was so very tired of Fenris’ hatred and paranoia laced with jealous venom. “I don’t care what you think of me but I will not let you attack Poppet. You and I can take this outside.” He tried to move her behind him, “I’m her friend and at the moment I’m also her healer.”

 

“A convenient lie,” Fenris snarled and reached behind Anders to grab Jannasilane’s arm. He hauled her up and she fell against his side, the robe gaping open in the process.

 

“This is truth, Fenris,” Jannasilane said angrily. “You are being most ridiculous, this is also truth. I wish you to let go; you are hurting me.” Because she was only wearing a light robe she felt sorely disadvantaged. Anders tried to pry the elf’s fingers loose but the minute he grabbed the lyrium-tattooed skin something changed. Energy, such as in the Gauntlet on the way to the Sacred Ashes, surged between them. She bit her lips as she felt the Beast stirring after years of dormancy. She looked away from Fenris, if he saw the desire rising in her he would believe he was in the right.

 

Bodahn was already racing downstairs and was nearly out the door when he thought of Hawke’s mabari and let him out, “Find your mistress, boy, and bring her home. It’s an emergency.” Before he ran outside, he cautioned Sandal and Orana to stay close but out of the way, he had no idea what Fenris might be capable of.

 

In Leandra’s bedroom the elf glared at the two of them, “What foul magic is this?” He didn’t understand why he suddenly remembered Idunna, an unusual apostate they encountered years before. His tattoos flared and she shivered in response, he could see her body quivering down to her toes. He bent his head to whisper in her ear, “I smell your arousal, fickle wench, but I will not allow myself to be used, so you can cease whatever it is you are doing.” Yet he deliberately set his tattoos to pulse, to punish her, not realizing he was making it harder for her to control the Beast.

 

“Fenris, you need to stop. Take a breath and try to calm yourself, when your lyrium flares like that, Poppet suffers,” Anders tried to explain. “She doesn’t want this, you, or me.” He found it difficult; through Jannasilane, he was experiencing some of the same energy and knew her Beast was rising. If he weren’t so deeply in love with Hawke, he’d find it harder to control his own reaction. He also felt mildly intoxicated from the lyrium. “She’s sensitive to magic, and apparently lyrium. We can try to figure it out later, but right now you need to go.”

 

“So you can continue your tryst? I don’t think so,” Fenris phased and drew his hand back. He only meant to threaten them, to make it clear to both of them he wouldn’t stand aside while they hurt Hawke. Jannasilane, thinking he was attacking, pushed Anders out of the way and forcefully wriggled out of Fenris’ grip. Unfortunately, she pulled him off balance and instead of merely threatening them he shoved his hand into her shoulder.

 

Jannasilane gasped and bit her lip to control the pain. Blood trickled down her chin.

 

“Damn!” Anders swore vociferously with more imagination than the elf credited to him. “What have you done?”

 

Fenris removed his hand. He was ashamed and didn’t know what he should say but before he could say anything she took a deep breath and let out her battle song.

 

“You know, Guard-Captain, if you and your husband ever want to leave Kirkwall Amaranthine has a place for you,” Alistair offered. He remembered Aveline from Ostagar and that Duncan thought she would make a good Grey Warden. “Duncan thought highly of you.”

 

“I’m flattered, Commander, but my place is here. I admire what you have done with the Wardens but I don’t wish to become one, maybe once I would have considered it, but no longer,” Aveline remembered seeing Alistair in the camp but had no idea he or the then Warden-Commander noticed her. From what she heard about him, he was a leader she could respect.

 

“Well, as somebody pointed out, I also run an arling. I can always use exceptional people, Warden or not. I respect your decision but know the offer is open to you both if you change your minds. If you’d rather the Denerim or royal guard I’ll put in a good word,” Alistair replied good-naturedly. They were entering the Hightown Market, which was a scene of unusual commotion. Instantly Alistair was on alert, in his experience anything unusual was probably bad. He looked around for the source, “Um, Tambra, isn’t that your mabari?”

 

“That dog,” Tambra muttered in exasperation, “Bodahn is usually more careful . . . I suppose I better catch him before he finds his way to the butcher’s. Do you have any idea how much I had to pay the last time he got loose?”

 

“Try paying the food bill for an entire order of Grey Wardens,” Alistair retorted. “However, I think it’s something else . . . there’s Bodahn talking to one of the guard.”

 

“Advantages of being super-sized,” Varric quipped.

 

Aveline whistled, a particular piercing note that carried to her guardsman. He looked up and signaled, “That’s the sign for domestic trouble. We better move quickly, Hawke.”

 

“Janna was going to your house to talk to Anders,” Alistair immediately started running, dodging or leaping over barriers. Carver swore and followed.

 

“Well, well, well, he has a lot of dexterity for such a big man,” Isabela ogled approvingly. Hawke raced for her mabari and shouted for the others to go to the mansion.

 

Donnic was there ahead of them, “I met Bodahn and sent him to look for you in the market after he explained,” he shook his head. “Fenris was angry and made all sorts of accusations against Anders and,” he sighed miserably, he hated having to tell the Hero of Ferelden the sorry news, “your good lady. He barged upstairs in spite of Bodahn’s efforts. I’m sorry, ser, Guard-Captain, they’re in one of the bedrooms.” Looking at Alistair, he understood why the Blight lasted only a year. He only hoped they wouldn’t have to arrest the Hero of Ferelden for murder.

 

“I see,” Alistair replied. He sprinted up the steps without waiting for anybody else. He slowed at the bedroom door and approached cautiously, all his senses on alert. He frowned a little, _“That’s unexpected. Ignore it, Alistair, it doesn’t change what you need to do.”_ Jannasilane was whimpering under the weight of the two men, “It’s okay, Jannalove, I’m here now.”

 

“Please, my Ali, I’m sorry,” she babbled and gasped.

 

He quieted her as best he could. When Carver joined him, he took a step away from the bed of bodies. “Can you feel that?” he asked. Carver frowned and closed his eyes in order to focus his senses better. What he felt made his eyebrows rise in disbelief and he looked at his Commander. Alistair didn’t let him speak, “We need to do a cleanse before we can help her,” he said quietly, his anger coldly controlled. He went to the top of the stairs and looked down; Oghren had arrived about the same time as Hawke and the others. “Tambra, you and Merrill need to go outside until we call you.”

 

Hawke started to protest.

 

“Sis, if Hof says stay outside, stay outside. You’ll only get hurt if you don’t and won’t be able to help later,” Carver warned. “That goes for you, too, Merrill.”

 

“I’ll make sure nobody gets killed,” Aveline said quietly to her husband. “Do as he requested,” she ordered and went upstairs, followed by the Orzammar warrior. “Maker,” she breathed when she saw the three people on Leandra’s bed.

 

“Aveline, I don’t know what will happen, so you might want to watch from the landing. Oghren, go with her, the fewer emotions in here the better for us to do what’s needed. You’ll be close enough if you have to act.”

 

Oghren understood that Alistair didn’t want Aveline to interfere, “Aye, Commander. Cherryplum’s had enough for one day. Come on, you sexy warrior woman. You know, you remind me of Branka,” he leered. Aveline stepped back, just as the dwarf intended.

 

“Carver, wait for my signal. I want to see if there’s a pattern so we can disrupt the energy more easily. When I say ‘three’ I want you to act,” he closed his eyes as his junior had earlier. Once he was reasonably confident he had the rhythm he began timing, “One, two, and three.” He and Carver performed simultaneous mana cleanses. Alistair grabbed Fenris by the collar and literally threw him out the door. The elf didn’t stop flying until he hit the opposite wall, groaning.


	114. Kitchen Conversations

Fenris was able to shuffle home with the help of Varric, Isabela and Oghren. Bodahn went with them to gather the Fereldans’ belongings and bring them back to the Hawke estate. Nobody thought it a good idea for Alistair to retrieve them. After Anders applied some poultices to Jannasilane’s skin for her burns, he left her alone with Alistair and made his way to the kitchen. Carver helped him down the stairs without making one single smart comment. Satisfied they didn’t have to make any arrests, Aveline and Donnic returned to their respective duties.

 

“I could use something to eat,” Anders would rather be in the Deep Roads than explaining what happened to the irritated, finger-tapping Tambra. Carver started to get up but Orana was already putting platters of food on the table. The minute he smelled food he couldn’t think of anything else, he felt like he hadn’t eaten in a week. He and Carver got busy. Merrill watched in awe, she wasn’t usually around when Anders ate and she hadn’t seen Carver since he became a Grey Warden.

 

Tambra sighed, “It’s a Grey Warden thing,” she explained to Merrill. “We won’t learn a thing until they’re on their second plate. Orana, would you please make up something for Alistair and Jannasilane?”

 

“Makh shure Cuphcake getsh shme of these shinnmn bns,” Carver said as he grabbed a couple. “She’ll love ‘em.” It took a minute for the others to understand what he was saying through the food in his mouth.

 

A few minutes later Tambra was ready to smack Anders, “Now you’re stalling. What happened?” What she really wanted to know was why her mother’s room was the scene for whatever weird stuff happened.

 

Anders looked at her unhappily, “Poppet filled me in on what happened after I left Ferelden. I’ll sum it up in one word, _politics._ I was so selfish, concentrating on my own dissatisfaction with Stroud that I failed to see or prevent . . . well, no matter. She also wanted to consult me on a personal, medical matter. I hope you know that I love you and the last thing in the world I would _ever_ want to do is cheat on you or hurt you. I’m sorry about your mother’s room, love. When Poppet came I hadn’t had a chance to straighten ours.” He couldn’t help grinning, “I know she and Alistair have a _healthy_ relationship,” he winked at her, “but she is still something of an innocent and I didn’t want to embarrass her.”

 

“Oh Maker,” Carver groaned and put his head in his hands, “please don’t go into details.”

 

“Is something wrong, Carver?” Merrill asked. He shook his head while his sister coughed to hide her laughter. “I missed something again, didn’t I? You’re not just talking about dirty smallclothes lying on the floor?” She blushed when she realized.

 

“Sometimes, Merrill, you remind me of her,” Anders noted before continuing his explanation. “We needed privacy so I could examine her and she could feel free to confide in me further, if she wished. I promise I was going to tell you about it. Anyway, -”

 

“Hold up, Magey, she’s not sick, is she?” Carver scowled at him.

 

The mage shook his head and reassured him, “No, she’s not sick. However, when we were talking I decided I couldn’t give her my best opinion without a complete physical examination. I can’t, I won’t, tell you more than that.” Anders stared into his cup of coffee, he didn’t particularly like the beverage but he always felt cold after a mana cleanse. “Poppet is an unusual person, and I don’t mean her personality. She has certain abilities, traits, sensitivities I’ve never seen in anybody else, all due to events that happened before she was born.”

 

Carver scowled at him, but held his tongue for the moment.

 

Anders stared at him, “I see. Trust me, I’ll explain with the minimum detail. Her legacy, if you will, is the ability to sense magic. You two are mages, so you know that once you start to study certain specialties you and your magic change, develop a certain flavor. She senses that I’m a spirit healer, which is soothing, even attractive, to her. She also senses that you, Merrill, are a blood mage even though you haven’t performed that type of magic in a long time. Being near you makes her skin itch. It has nothing to do with you personally. She also can sense demons and sometimes the type of demon.”

 

Tambra interrupted him, “Fascinating, the number of times we could have used her,” she thought of all their encounters over the years.

 

“The Fade and demons give her a headache,” Anders added. “She also needs to stay away from lyrium, though not for the usual reasons. I think she’s almost drawn to it, certainly when we were trapped in the Fade she constantly touched the crystals.”

 

“Varric knew you weren’t telling him everything,” Tambra accused him.

 

“Guilty,” Anders acknowledged. “Alistair told me later that one of my old teachers, Wynne, suggested she avoid lyrium and certain magics. They don’t have the same effect on her they do others and she couldn’t predict what harm might come from such exposure in time.”

 

“And Fenris is covered with the stuff,” Hawke noted grimly.

 

Anders cleared his throat, “We were sitting on the bed afterwards, just talking for a few minutes before I left so she could change.” He scowled, “Fenris clamored upstairs and burst in, shouting nonsense about me cheating on you and calling Poppet various uncomplimentary names. I tried to protect her but he reached around me to grab her, she was still only wearing the thin robe . . . oh, um, I borrowed one of yours for her to wear during the exam . . . and when I tried to pry him off her . . . I still don’t understand exactly what happened. I think he was only trying to threaten us when he phased,” he grimaced, “but she didn’t know that. She pushed me out of the way and his hand went through her shoulder. She’s hurting. In addition to everything else, she’s severely allergic to leather that isn’t dragon. Wherever his armor touched her, it burned her skin.”

 

Tambra stared at him somberly, “Poor girl, do you need to borrow my mana to heal her?”

 

“One of the things I like about you, and there are _so_ many, is your keen intelligence coupled with compassion,” Anders smiled at his lover.

 

During the slow hobble back to his mansion, Fenris didn’t speak a word. He ignored Oghren’s comments; indeed, he barely heard them. He was thinking about Alistair’s words.

_He lay crumpled against the wall where the Warden-Commander threw him. Every part of his body hurt; were all Wardens so strong? Through the buzzing in his ears, he heard Anders say he needed healing poultices for the female. He was confused until he remembered the mage saying something about leather and allergies. He sighed, he had a feeling he made a huge mistake. He received confirmation a few minutes later when large boots stopped before his eyes. “Look at me,” Alistair spoke softly but with absolute authority. Fenris didn’t resist. He ignored the pain and looked up into one of the coldest, angriest expressions he had ever seen, and he saw many in Tevinter. He couldn’t repress a shiver._

_“You’re free now but you act like an angry wild dog off the leash. As a free man, you have responsibilities to yourself and those around you to exercise control and to think about the consequences of your actions. You have unusual abilities so your responsibility is even greater. If you are not willing to accept this responsibility, perhaps you should find a master who might prevent you from attacking innocents,” Alistair looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he sheathed his sword, which he’d held against the elf’s throat, and walked away._

When they entered the mansion, Oghren sneered at the elf before talking to Bodahn, Varric and Isabela, “I’ll take care of my stuff and the kid’s, I don’t like nobody touching my doodads.”

 

Isabela blinked, “I wasn’t even considering it.”

 

“Humph, good,” Oghren snorted. “I’ll show you where the Commander and Cherryplum were sleeping. I don’t know much about pirates; just don’t go sniffin’ their underwear or anything.”

 

“Got it,” Varric answered, amused to see Rivaini speechless for once, “no doodad touching and no underwear sniffing.”

 

Fenris watched them go upstairs and decided to go to the kitchen; there wasn’t much food but there was a lot of wine in the pantry. He wanted to think, he wanted to drink, and he wanted to be alone.

 

There wasn’t much to pack. In minutes, the three dwarves left to return to Hawke’s estate, leaving Isabela behind. Varric didn’t consider himself overly fastidious but he didn’t like being too close to the warrior. He preferred companions who at least understood the definition of ‘hygiene.’ However, he was also curious. “You’re not casteless or a surface dwarf, so I gotta ask, how does a warrior from Orzammar get to be a Grey Warden? Anders told me a few things that, frankly, I find hard to believe and I’ve seen some weird shit.”

 

“I ain’t no gossiping girl,” Oghren snorted out a belch.

 

“You said you were going to get a room at the Hanged Man, come have a drink, at least you can tell me if Blondie was putting me on or telling me the truth,” Varric said persuasively. He was convinced that once he got the other dwarf started he could find out more. Oghren shrugged agreement.

 

“If you don’t mind, messeres, with Grey Wardens in the house I should go to the Market,” Bodahn said hesitantly.

 

Varric didn’t know if that was the only reason he wanted to get away from them but he smiled affably, “Sure. We’ll take everything to Hawke’s and see how Magpie is doing before we head to Lowtown.”

 

Isabela quietly searched for Fenris. When she finally found him, he was just throwing the second empty wine bottle at the wall. “Fenhedis,” he swore.

 

“Well, at least you’re saying something. Mind if I have a drink?” she drawled. After helping herself to a bottle of wine she made herself comfortable and propped her feet up on the table while Fenris glared at her. She took a healthy swig, “I’m glad to see you have some decent wine left. Definitely beats anything at the Hanged Man. The way you flew across that landing, I didn’t think Alistair was capable of such anger, though one time there were rumors. I’ve always thought he was sexy, with those strong muscles and that innocent, Chantry-boy way, but now I’ve seen him scary, I think he’s even sexier.”

 

“Rat piss beats anything at the Hanged Man,” Fenris muttered. He drank some more. “If he’s so sexy then why was she touching the abomination so much last night?”

 

“I knew it,” Isabela crowed, “you think she’s attractive. She is; she’s one delicious, exotic bundle of sex appeal. Tell me, did you run off like a lunatic because you were concerned about Hawke or jealous that yet another woman found Anders more attractive than you? It’s no secret that you’ve been pining after our magical leader.”

 

Fenris glared at her, “I do not pine. Hawke made it clear years ago, we are friends and nothing more; I treasure that friendship. It was hard not to notice you and the woman coming down the steps in that armor. I doubt a man in the place didn’t notice four large breasts so prominently displayed.” The pirate smirked at him and Fenris turned his glare to the table, “I have been a fool.”

 

Isabela took another swig and wiped her chin, “Everybody’s a fool at some point or other, sweet thing,” she said tolerantly. While he brooded, she thought of new friend fiction to write, maybe involving a very large, heroic figure and his extremely curvy lover. She smiled to herself, seeing Kitcat in the armor she gave her almost made her glad she lost the bet. She wondered how quickly Alistair ravished his lover once they were alone. _“Too bad I didn’t join them,”_ she thought wistfully, ignoring the fact she wasn’t invited, then began plotting how drunk she could get them in order to share their bed once again. Once they shed their inhibitions, they were surprisingly adventurous. Perhaps a trip to the Blooming Rose?

 

“I will have to apologize to the abomination, won’t I?” Fenris asked glumly after an hour of brooding and drinking.

 

“Huh? What? Oh, yeah, probably,” Isabela came out of her reverie. She was just at the point in her imagination where the voluptuous Lanna was performing a hesitant striptease for the supremely sexy pirate queen and her large second-in-command, Kalifare. “Kitcat too; you hurt her, Fenris.”

 

“And Hawke, and Alistair,” the elf added. “Any suggestions? I mean ones that don’t involve sex.”

 

“Party pooper,” she pouted. Languidly, she moved to straddle him, “I’ve heard physical activity can stimulate the mind.”

 

Fenris answered her, desire sparking, “Perhaps we should test this theory.” He began undoing the few fastenings needed to free her breasts to his gaze. He began phasing his hands in and out, the way she liked, until her large nipples were standing tall and proud. “You have the most magnificent breasts,” he growled.

 

“Second-most,” she gasped.

 

He stopped what he was doing and stared at her, then he began laughing, “The bet, the bet you lost was a, a breast-off?” He licked one nipple, “I would have liked to have seen that.”

 

“Hmm, maybe I can arrange a rematch,” she began scheming while removing his armor.

 

Alistair found his way to Hawke’s kitchen, “I’ve done all I can. Do you think you’ve recovered enough to help her? I hate to see her hurting,” he asked Anders.

 

“We’ll take care of her, Alistair,” Anders promised. He and Tambra quickly went upstairs.

 

The large blond warrior sat down with a tired thud. “Maker,” he sighed, and pushed his fingers through his hair, “this is not how I wanted this trip to go.” Orana quietly slid a plate of food in front of him and he began eating absent-mindedly. He’d left all the food she took upstairs for Janna. He finished that plate, then a second and was on his third before he was ready to speak again. “Tell me about Kirkwall,” he demanded.

 

Hawke the younger stared at his boss. However, a perplexed Merrill was the one who spoke, “Kirkwall? Why Kirkwall instead of Fenris? Or, oh, I’m sorry. You just want to talk of something else, and I’m babbling away.”

 

Carver took her hand, “Hush, Merrill. You’re not doing anything wrong. What do you want to know, boss?”

 

“My Janna still thinks something isn’t right about Kirkwall. She feels it more strongly now than when the Qunari attacked.”

 

“If something’s wrong in my city, I want to know about it,” Tambra declared firmly. “Jannasilane is fine; she’s sleeping and probably won’t wake for hours. Anders is exhausted so I told him he needed to lie down before he keels over.” She sat down, plucked one of Orana’s fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon buns for herself, and began nibbling. “Now, what is wrong with Kirkwall?”

 

Alistair got out of his chair and began pacing, “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I can tell you this, unless your little brother was exaggerating, Kirkwall has more than its fair share of abominations, demons, and blood mages. I don’t mean you, Merrill; I mean the kill-everyone-because-I’m-evil kind. Although,” he bit into the cinnamon bun he’d been holding while he talked. “Mmmm,” he closed his eyes and finished it in one bite. He opened his eyes and looked around the kitchen until he found Orana, “Did you make these?”

 

“Y-yes, messere,” she stammered. “Is s-something wrong?”

 

“No, no, no, no. They are perfect. In fact, madam,” he took her hand and bent over to kiss the top of it lightly, “My Wardens and soldiers would throw themselves at your feet if you were in Amaranthine. If you ever find yourself in need of a job, come to Vigil’s Keep; we would be honored to have your services.” He let go of her hand and smiled kindly at her before resuming his pacing and thinking.

 

_“It will be weeks before my house stops smelling of cinnamon,”_ Tambra Hawke thought, judging by the star-struck gaze of the elf she hired during their search for Hadrianna.

 

“To be fair, boss,” Carver jokingly nudged his sister, “when I was here some crazy woman with a painted white mouth, Tahrone? Tyranny? Tarohne? was hiding below Darktown. She may have been a powerful maleficar but we defeated her.”

 

Tambra thumbed her bottom lip, “There’s more to the story than that. A few years after you left we found some old books, books that detailed some horrific magic she’d hidden around Kirkwall from Viscount’s Keep to Sundermount and the Wounded Coast.”

 

“Hawke destroyed them,” Merrill muttered. She was still annoyed that Hawke could so easily destroy ancient knowledge when she was fighting to discover more of her heritage.

 

“Nothing good could come of such books, Merrill,” Hawke wearily repeated an old argument. “My point, Carver, is we found enough of them to discover a powerful demon hidden or caged underneath Kirkwall,” she grimaced. “That wasn’t the only one, either.”

 

“So, what, Kirkwall was a dumping ground for unwanted demons? Or like the raiders’ stronghold in Brandel’s Reach? Hear ye, hear ye oh mighty demons, want a place to rest and plot without any interference? Come to the city of Kirkwall,” Alistair intoned sarcastically. “I want to see the Circle,” he decided. “When I was training to be a templar, they told us about mages succumbing to blood magic and, of course, how to prepare for a Harrowing. I remember the statistics, the expected ‘bad results.’”

 

“Knight-Commander Meredith will never let you into the Circle. She’s grows more paranoid each year. Frankly, I think she’s battier than crazy lady’s insane Aunt Fannie. However, her second in command is from Ferelden. I don’t agree with the Knight-Captain’s views but Cullen is sane and, I think, a good man at heart.”

 

“Cullen? I wonder if he’s the same Cullen we met during the Blight,” Alistair mused.


	115. An Announcement

While Janna slept, Alistair went to the Gallows. Just as Tambra warned, he couldn’t get inside but Cullen was willing to talk to him in general terms. He too was concerned about the number of failed Harrowings and both men agreed that moving the Circle out of the former prison might be a good idea. When he returned to the Hawke estate, Nugflutter and Hawke’s mabari were snoozing in front of the fire.

 

“Anders is at his clinic in Darktown and Mistress Hawke is upstairs, messere,” Bodahn informed him.

 

“How do you like Kirkwall, Bodahn?”

 

“It’s almost as lively as traveling with a couple of Grey Wardens,” the older dwarf answered with a smile. “The Champion is a good woman and has been most kind to me and my boy. Sandal’s doing very well here. I can’t say we like the Gallows, though, fair gives me the creeps.”

 

Alistair agreed and started toward the steps but stopped when a blizzard of envelopes bombarded him. He looked up and saw Tambra staring down at him with her mouth open. “Oops,” she finally said, “Sorry, Alistair, you caught me in the middle of filling out my social calendar.”

 

“Is it safe to come upstairs? I thought I’d been pelted with invitations before but I can see I was mistaken.”

 

Tambra laughed and waited until he joined her before signaling her mabari, “Before I became Champion I received a few invitations, mostly due to Mother’s connections, but a few. It was easy reading them all and making decisions. I doubt I spent more than two hours a month on social correspondence,” she rolled her eyes. “Now, now I get so many if I read them all I wouldn’t have time to go to any of them.”

 

“Maybe that’s the plan,” he teased. “And don’t forget about requests for help and ‘investment opportunities.’”

 

“Oh yes, like the Fereldan Refugee Fund, only Fereldan was spelled F-u-r-,” she snorted. “Bodahn removes the business items, those I take care of immediately. Can’t have my favorite mabari starve because I didn’t pay the bill, can I? The rest he leaves for me. I suppose I have to go to some of these events, so when the pile reaches critical mass, which is more often than I would like, I start going through it. I separate them into ‘not bloody likely’ and ‘maybe.’ I'm afraid I showered you with the ‘maybes.’ I let my dog pick one from the floor and that’s the one I go to,” she took the envelope from her mabari, “Good boy, you’ve done a fine job.” She opened and read it carefully, “This doesn’t look _so_ painful.” She looked down over the railing, “Okay, Bodahn, you know what to do.”

 

“Yes, messere, right away,” the merchant-turned-manservant began picking up the scattered envelopes.

 

“Sometimes my faithful hound has to make a second selection, but it works so far. Bodahn will organize those for me to politely decline. One good thing about being in and out so much is people don’t really expect me to come.”

 

Alistair smirked, “And you can keep them guessing because they won’t find a pattern to your replies. I wonder if Poorfella or Nugflutter would be interested in doing something similar.”

 

“I suppose you get a lot, since you’re the Warden-Commander, Hero of Ferelden, and Arl of Amaranthine. Never mind, I don’t want to know. Was Cullen helpful?”

 

“He confirmed my suspicions. And he said to give you his regards,” Alistair added. “He also said the percentage of failed Harrowings was just as high as the number of blood mages popping up. What on Thedas possessed the Divine to think a former prison in the middle of the Tevinter slave trade, where they killed hundreds of slaves, was a good place for a Circle of Mages? Didn’t _anyone_ tell her that the Veil was likely to be thin due to the centuries of misery? And that a thin Veil was so very much not the best place for mages? Cullen is going to suggest relocating the Circle, but he doesn’t hold out a lot of hope.”

 

“I asked the Grand Cleric that a few years ago,” Tambra thumbed her lower lip, a habit of hers when she was thinking or worried. “She asked me if a sound building should go to waste. I think that we probably know more about the Veil and the Fade than Justinia I did. Unless it's an Exalted March I doubt the Chantry will move quickly to change anything,” she said cynically. “I’ve heard rumors that the new Divine is more open-minded and progressive than her predecessors but I don’t know if that will translate into actual changes.”

 

“Not preaching that mages are evil is a start, at least. I don’t envy the woman. I only had to change the reputation of an Arling after one exceedingly bad ruler,” Alistair shrugged. “Anyway, I know Janna is concerned about the effect Kirkwall has on its people. She even suggested the wrongness she senses might have influenced the Arishok’s actions. You’re in a better position to find answers, if there are any,” Alistair answered practically. He stepped towards his bedroom door, “Maybe I’ll take a nap. If we’re playing Wicked Grace here tonight, I need to keep my wits sharp. Hawke,” he faced their host before closing the door, “thank you. I know our presence was rather dumped on you and I appreciate you letting us stay.”

 

“Mother would have bitten off my head if I kicked you out,” Tambra smiled, realizing she wasn’t bothered at all anymore that somebody was using her mother’s room. “You’re my brother’s friends and he’s finally found his place in the world. I’m the one who should be grateful. You are correct about one thing; you had better have your wits about you if you’re playing with Varric and Isabela. Hmmm, maybe I should thank your little dog for spying out some of her tricks. What was the bet?” she asked in a sudden change of subject, hoping to catch him off balance.

 

Alistair smiled that silly little grin and endeavored not to blush, “Unusual.” He closed the door. “You’ve had an exhausting day, my love, and it isn’t close to over,” he whispered as he undressed and slid into bed beside her. “Why do my shirts always look better on you than on me?” He held her close and nuzzled her hair.

 

She stirred slightly, “I wish to talk to you, my Ali,” she yawned.

 

“Later, when you’re awake. Go back to sleep, my beautiful Janna,” he whispered. He watched over her as she once again slept. He had some questions of his own, but they could wait. He thought Anders probably had the answers, but he wasn’t here and he really didn’t feel like going into Darktown, not since he was supposed to be on vacation. He frowned; he didn’t know what he was going to do about Anders, not yet. He needed to talk to Tambra as well. Anders was still one of his Wardens, and a friend, but . . . he put that dilemma aside for the moment and concentrated on the woman in his arms. She was so small and yet so strong, then again, she had to be. Eventually, he dozed.

 

Most of Hawke’s friends and companions were already present and ready to play when they heard a loud thump and then swift footsteps coming down the steps. Fenris was prepared to apologize but Jannasilane brushed by him as if he were invisible. He followed her to the library and watched with as much surprise as everybody else when she accosted Anders, “Is it okay? After this morning,” she whispered in a panic.

 

Anders only needed a second to understand what she meant. He wiped away her tears and held her close, comforting her, “Everything is perfect, Poppet,” he said quietly and kissed the top of her head. He heard heavier footsteps thudding down the steps and grinned, “I think somebody wants to talk to you.”

 

Alistair stood in the doorway watching them with worried eyes. He was oblivious to the admiring glances as the group took in his lack of attire. After Janna knocked him out of bed and stepped on him on her way out the bedroom door, he only took time to pull on cotton pants before he followed. Even Aveline admired the large, well-built man, though not as openly as Isabela or Hawke. “Janna, what’s wrong?”

 

Like quicksilver, she spun around and leapt into his arms, “Nothing at all, my beautiful Ali.” She kissed him and held his face in her hands, “Nothing at all,” she whispered, “Daddy.”

 

Alistair stared at her, and then looked at Anders for confirmation. When he looked back at Jannasilane a soft smile of pure joy spread across his face, “We’re going to have a baby,” he murmured. Their foreheads touched and they gazed into each other’s eyes, a virtual cocoon of happiness. Nobody in the room said anything, not wanting to break the beauty of the moment. Aveline reached for Donnic’s hand and Varric surreptitiously brushed away a tear.

 

A loud rumbling broke the mood; it was Jannasilane’s stomach. “I’m going to look like a bouncy ball,” she wailed.

 

“Ooo, my own private, sexy bouncy ball, I can’t wait,” Alistair teased and fed her a cinnamon bun. He walked out of the room with her still in his arms.

 

“I hate you,” she muttered through a mouthful of the delicious pastry.

 

“Ha, I know you adore me, almost as much as I adore you,” he answered smugly.

 

Tambra laughed, “Well, I think a celebration is in order. I have some very fine wine I’ve been waiting to open.” She left to talk to Bodahn.

 

“Private, sexy bouncy ball? Is that a Fereldan euphemism for something, kid?” Varric laughed.

 

Carver, Anders and Oghren looked at each other and laughed. Oghren answered, “That is all Commander and Cherryplum. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories I could tell.”

 

“I better let Varel know that Reynita is returning,” Carver grinned happily.

 

Merrill frowned in confusion, “Who is Reynita?”

 

“Cupcake can be a little temperamental when she’s pregnant,” he answered.

 

“A little!” Oghren snorted. “You were nearly ready to desert after you met her, you and a bunch of others new to Vigil’s Keep.”

 

Anders was surprised, “I know Poppet can be fierce, but she’s really quite sweet.”

 

“Not when she’s carrying, Sparklefingers, then her moods change faster than you can blink. Sometimes her mean streak comes out. The boy here did something to irritate her and she let loose. You should have seen his face get red, and then he yelled back at her. Cherryplum burst into tears and sat down in the dirt while he scowled at her. Stroud and Alistair both came out to see what the ruckus was all about. I swear, they were about to lay into him but she stopped them. Through her tears she gave them a look, said it was her fault, and she owed the lad an apology.”

 

“She looked up at me, said she was very sorry for losing her temper and being so disagreeable and that she hoped I would forgive her in time. What else could I do?” Carver shrugged, “I helped her up, Nugflutter nodded at me, and they both went into the Keep, leaving me with the Commander and Constable. Talk about an uncomfortable moment,” he shook his head at the memory. “I don’t even remember what I did or what she said.”

 

“The assassin is the one who started calling her Reynita, said it meant ‘little queen,” Oghren let out a, for him, polite burp. “Said if she was going to be so bossy and officious, like a spoiled queen, she needed a new nickname.” He thought a minute, “Maybe if she slept better she wouldn’t be so,” he waved his hand around.

 

Anders studied him, frowning slightly, “She did mention something about not sleeping well,” he said cautiously. “Is it that bad?”

 

“Yes,” Carver and Oghren answered together.

 

The healer thought for a moment, taking mental inventory of the supplies in his clinic, “I can make something that may help her sleep and not harm either her or the baby. I’ll have to go back to Darktown, though.”

 

“I will guard your back,” Fenris stated. Everybody stared at him, Anders and Oghren glared. He’d stayed out of sight while Alistair and Jannasilane were downstairs. The thought that he might have hurt a child with his temper sickened him. “Mage . . . Anders,” Fenris thought he would choke on the name, one he’d refused to utter until now, “I owe you an apology. And you, Hawke. I was wrong to come here as I did. Whatever is between you is just that, between you. You and I, Anders, will never like each other, but you have healed me many times in spite of this. Moreover, you fought with me when slavers, Hadriana, and later Danarius came for me. Instead of remembering, I allowed temper and hatred to rule my actions. You were hurt, as was your friend. For this, I apologize and promise to master my reactions in the future.”

 

Anders was silent for a long time, studying the annoying elf glaring at him from the doorway, “I can’t say I expected better from you,” he said. Fenris grimaced at the truth of his statement but didn’t respond. “I _didn’t_ expect you to apologize. Poppet’s the one you hurt, though.”

 

Fenris lifted one elegant eyebrow and drawled, “Perhaps now is not the time to interrupt them.”

 

Anders’ mouth quirked, “I should mark this down on my calendar, we agree on something.” He sighed, “Let’s make this quick.”

 

“I’m coming with you,” Oghren declared belligerently. The trio arrived at the clinic without incident. Oghren stopped Fenris at the door, “You stay here, _elf_. I’ll go in with Sparklefingers.”

 

Fenris scowled at him, “I am not going to attack him, _dwarf_.”

 

“Well, maybe I want a _consultation_ and I don’t want no lit up elf hearing what I got to say,” he scowled back.

 

Fenris sneered and shrugged before stationing himself at the entrance. Truthfully, he didn’t want to go into the abomination’s clinic. However, he couldn’t help hearing some of their conversation; his curiosity was piqued when he realized the dwarf was talking about the girl and not himself. Phrases such as, _“first miscarriage . . . Fort Drakon,” “nughumpers hurt her bad,”_ and _“nightmares every time,” made_ him frown.

 

Alistair was ecstatic as he carried his Janna into their bedroom. “I love you,” he said, “isn’t it about time you made an honest man out of me?”

 

She nuzzled his neck, “Yes,” she said softly.

 

He laid her on the bed as if she were made of the most delicate glass. “You said yes,” he whispered. “No take-backs, you said yes.”

 

“No take-backs, my Ali. I love you, always.” The lovers made plans and talked about everything and nothing until Jannasilane fell asleep. Alistair kissed her forehead and joined the others downstairs.

 

“Change of plans, Carver. We need to head back to Vigil’s Keep sooner than we planned, no time for Cumberland,” Alistair sighed and shook his head. “Where’s Oghren?”

 

“Is anything wrong, boss? Cupcake was looking forward to Nevarra,” Carver frowned.

 

“Well, maybe for the honeymoon,” Alistair answered thoughtfully.

 

Maybe it was Fenris or maybe the dwarf with the large battleaxe, but none of the usual thugs bothered the trio on their way to Darktown and back. Oghren didn’t know whether to be disappointed at the lack of action or not and he was in a sour mood when they entered Hawke’s mansion. “What’d I miss?” he growled when he saw the small celebration. Carver was trying to teach Merrill how to dance the Fereldan Toe Tap and the Commander was dancing what he assumed was the Remigold he always talked about.

 

“It’s so exciting,” Merrill gushed, “we’ve all been invited to the wedding. I’ve never been to a human wedding before.”

 

“Make sense, woman,” Oghren demanded.

 

Alistair grinned, “We’re getting married, that is, I am, to my Janna.”

 

“Catch her in a weak moment, did ya? Good for you, you overgrown pike twirler,” the dwarven warrior replied with a gruff smile.


	116. It’s Up to Anders

Janna was in her aerie, talking to Ser Pounce-a-lot, “Remember that he did not leave because he wished. He was attacked and scared, so do not make his return too hard on him.” The cat, now bigger than Nugflutter, Pinktara, and their puppies combined, had followed her up the ladder. He stared at her. She buried her hands in his fur and stroked him, gaining as well as giving comfort, “Yes, he made a mistake, a very big mistake. I hope we can fix it but there is a risk to him, to my Ali, to all involved. In Kirkwall, I warned Justice that if he hurt our Anders I would track him to the other side of the Fade but my Ali says he will do this instead. Neither of us wishes to risk the child I carry in the likely event the demon Justice has become attacks. Do not tell him, but I think he may be right to go in my stead because Justice respected him, not me. I was never comfortable that he was in our world, though for selfish reasons. I do not think I saw his descent into demonhood . . . is that even a word?”

 

Alistair found her there with Ser Pounce-a-lot, both of them lost in thought as she automatically stroked the purring feline. He let his worry drain from him, now he knew she was safe and unharmed. He watched, just his head and shoulders visible above the trap door, until she became aware of him. He hauled himself up the rest of the way before admonishing her, “Jannalove, I thought we decided it’s not safe for you to be up here alone, not when you’re pregnant. Remember the difficulty Fergus and Nathaniel had when you went into labor with Martelle?” He carefully didn’t mention that one of her miscarriages was also here in her tower.

 

“I am not without assistance, my Ali,” she glanced down at the large cat in her lap. “I wished to be alone for a few minutes and think before our friends arrive from Kirkwall, he followed me. I talked to Brody and Wynne this morning; all is well my attentive Ali,” she smiled softly at him.

 

“Thanks for watching over her, Pounce,” Alistair said before moving the feline. “I’ve got her now; it’s her turn to be stroked,” he joked as he settled his bride-to-be in his lap.

 

Ser Pounce-a-lot stared at him with baleful eyes before dismissing him and slowly sauntered down the ladder. Jannasilane settled against his chest, “He may make you pay for that, my Ali.”

 

“Probably,” the warrior admitted cheerfully, “You loosened the laces on your undertunic; do you have any idea how crazy you make me when I see all that glorious flesh exposed, teasing me, daring me to touch?” He ran his fingers over her sides, tracing the shapes made by her lacing. She shivered and wriggled against him.

 

“I admit that I worry, my Ali,” she sighed, reveling in his touch.

 

He wrapped his arms snugly around her and kissed the top of her head. “So do I,” he admitted. “I have three choices. I can do nothing and keep my fingers crossed; kill him outright to keep Justice from completely taking over; or try this ritual of Tambra’s which may result in my killing him anyway. I hate the very thought but I won’t let him live as a Tranquil; that much at least I can do for him if the ritual fails. Afterwards, if we’re successful . . .”

 

“He may be angry and leave,” she sighed again. “I asked Wynne why it was different for her, hosting a spirit. She said spirits embody different virtues and some are more, let me think, some are more proactive and susceptible to change than others. She says Faith just is. The Chantry wants to spread the Chant of Light and turn all eyes to the Maker but that is the result of human nature, since no mortal can embody a single element.”

 

“I suppose we are a mish mash of different vices, virtues, intelligence and experiences. And the nature of Justice is to seek justice, it _can’t_ just be,” he said thoughtfully. “I wonder if it would have been different if Justice hadn’t experienced our world for so long without the filter of a living person. Doesn’t really matter now, does it, my love?”

 

“Are you sure about including Fenris in your trip to the Fade, my Ali? He is so very, very angry,” Jannasilane frowned. She felt that rage inside him, even after he apologized. It wasn’t directed at her, or even Anders, specifically. Alistair was also remembering that time in the Champion’s estate.

 

_“I am sorry for my actions yesterday, sorry that my suspicions, my groundless suspicions and my temper caused me to attack your lady and cause her and you harm. I do not ask for your forgiveness, because what I did is unforgiveable. I offer you this apology so you know that I heard your words and I do truly regret my rash behavior,” Fenris warily watched Alistair from behind the barrier of his too-long bangs._

_“I wanted so very much to drop my sword through your throat where you lay on the landing. You should know I won’t stay my hand if there’s a next time,” the large human quietly warned him._

_“Nor should you.”_

_Jannasilane entered the room and Fenris repeated his apology. She studied him from the comfort of her Ali’s arms and Fenris studied her with equal care. Her eyes and the way the colors slowly swirled, so different from the rapid whirlpools when she was angry, fascinated him. He might not remember everything from his past but he was sure he never saw eyes like hers before. He started when she finally said, “Very well.” It was acknowledgement, not forgiveness._

 

“He’s angry but he’s also a victim. In Kirkwall, Justice was using your connection to feed on his lyrium tattoos. I can’t say if he was manipulating events before you sang, but he definitely took advantage when they were both unconscious. Wynne remembers Anders when he was a young apprentice, Nate and I know them both from before their merge, and Fenris can confront him, them, with their transgressions. We need somebody from his current life who knows what’s happened and, much as I dislike him, I know he won’t be too soft. I won’t ask Hawke to risk both her lover and her brother. And,” it was his turn to sigh, “I’m hoping that the presence of Fenris, or his tattoos, will draw Justice out.”

 

“Devious man,” Jannasilane whispered. Neither spoke for a long time, putting aside their concerns to simply relish each other.

 

On board the Siren’s Song, Tambra was alone at the rail, looking for a glimpse of Ferelden. Anders was in their cabin working on his manifesto again. She sighed, _“Maybe the return voyage will be more romantic. If Anders doesn’t hate me, that is. I don’t think I realized just how much I missed Ferelden until now. Fenris is sulking somewhere; he’s like a cat when it comes to water. At least he agreed to help us.”_ She thought again about the conversation she had with Alistair, when he approached her about Anders.

 

_“Freedom for mages is a worthy goal,” Tambra said, “but I’m afraid this spirit is pushing so hard and can only see one path. I say spirit out of respect for Anders but I think Justice is more demon than spirit at this point.” They were alone in Hawke’s study; Janna was at the dressmaker’s for a fitting and Anders was in his clinic, probably working on another version of his manifesto. Carver was with Merrill, trying to convince her to come back to Amaranthine. “I love Anders, the real Anders,” Tambra said after a pause, “not this crusading martyr Justice is turning him into. That has its own attractions, and I know if it didn’t exist in Anders at all then Justice probably couldn’t push it, but it’s not all that Anders is. I won’t see him destroyed because of another creature’s agenda.”_

_She began pacing. “A few years ago we helped a young mage with unusual abilities who was being plagued with nightmares and demons while he slept. Keeper Marethari had a ritual that would allow a small group into the Fade, mage or not, without the assistance of numerous mages or a mountain of lyrium. I think I knew even then that this day would come because I asked her to teach me in secret. Not even Merrill knows; it would hurt her too much if I never had to use it.”_

 

_“Since the Grey Wardens recruit mages, neither they nor lyrium are in short supply at the Vigil. We can certainly augment whatever you need,” Alistair responded. He was relieved that Hawke also saw the dangers that Anders didn’t; and that she was willing to take the risks. She was appalled to know what Justice had done to, well, all three of them, when Fenris barged into Leandra’s room. They worked out the details for Anders’ intervention._

“You’re looking a little green, Varric,” Tambra teased when he joined her.

 

“I won’t be sorry to be on dry land again,” the dwarf responded. “The sea air isn’t good for Bianca. Sandal seems to like it, though.” The young dwarf laughed every time the salt spray hit him in the face. “You’ve been a bit preoccupied, Hawke, something going on?”

 

She shook her head, the fewer who knew what was coming, the better, “Kirkwall is my home now, but I grew up in Ferelden. All the good memories of my family are here, or at least most of them. I didn’t realize just how much I missed it until now.”

 

“Careful or you’ll give Broody a run for the title,” Varric warned with a smile, not completely convinced.

 

“Land ho!” shouted Isabela’s man in the crow’s nest.

 

“Thank the Maker!” Tambra grinned at the vehemence behind Varric’s words. She left to tell Anders they would be landing soon.

 

The day after they arrived at Vigil’s Keep Alistair put his plan in action. Isabela was still onboard the Siren’s Song; she would stay until after her cargo was paid for, though Varric suspected she was too happy with her new ship to leave it yet. The templars, Petra, Kinnon, Merrill, and Varric left for the Wending Wood to see a demonstration of mages and templars working together with Jannasilane leading the way. Alistair wanted to make sure Justice didn’t ‘do an Archdemony thingy.’ Sigrun offered to go with them in case anybody wanted to see some of the oddities the Warden-Commander encountered when he first arrived in Amaranthine. Varric was reluctant to go, at first, “If I want to traipse around the countryside I can do that in Kirkwall.”

 

“Don’t you want to see if the two statues are talking again?” Sigrun tempted him.

 

“They didn’t talk, not really, did they?” Merrill asked intrigued. “Oh Varric, you have to go now. I’m not sure which is stranger, the statues or templars working with mages.”

 

“Alright, Daisy, I’ll go. Hawke is busy with Junior, Broody is brooding somewhere and Blondie is in conference with his fellow healers so I might as well.” Varric shouldered Bianca and went off.

 

Finn was eager to get back to the Avvar relics. Saykor went to act as guard, though it was more to make sure the mage didn’t trip and break a leg. Connor went with them but conveniently forgot his notebook, giving him an excuse to leave the crypt. By that time, Finn was too engrossed in his studies to notice his lack of return.

 

“Young Janna gave me leave to speak to you both,” Wynne then proceeded to detail Jannasilane’s ordeal at Fort Drakon. “ . . . So every time she’s pregnant -”

 

“-it triggers her memories and nightmares,” Anders finished. They were in the private sparring room; Brody said nobody would interrupt them there, unlike the small clinic. “Poor Poppet and poor Alistair.” He took the glass of sherry Wynne handed him, “Oghren told me she had nightmares. Surely between the three of us we can come up with something better than the potion I gave her in Kirkwall.” He swallowed a large portion of his sherry; he didn’t care for it but didn’t want to insult Wynne.

 

“Yes, the stress she suffers isn’t good for her or her baby,” Wynne talked about various herbs while she waited for the drugs in the alcohol to put him under. She didn’t know how long before they wore off so she was ready to act quickly. “It would help if Alistair stopped teasing her. He doesn’t quite realize . . . Anders, are you alright?”

 

“Sorry, feeling woozy,” he muttered.

 

“Lie down, young man,” she quietly commanded. “Let me take a look at you. No, don’t stand up; I’m too old to catch you if you fall.” She sighed in relief when he acquiesced without further struggle. Brody was already motioning the others inside. She watched them take their places, smiling at Alistair when he helped her lie down. “The magebane should be wearing off soon; I only put in enough so he couldn’t counteract the sleeping potion or your ritual, my dear,” Wynne explained. “We must try to draw Justice out, so we can see a separation between the two.”

 

“If Justice doesn’t agree to leave or Anders is unable to completely cast him out you should see a line connecting them,” Connor spoke softly. “According to my research and what I remember, if the spirit or demon doesn’t completely leave the host then you’ll see what I call a spirit line or spirit rope between them. The longer and thinner it’s stretched the better. Sever the line as close to the middle as you can, it’s better to err on the mortal side or you risk leaving too much of the spirit’s essence in the mage. However, if you cut too close to Anders then he won’t come back whole.”

 

“I doubt Justice will let us get too close and you’re probably more accurate with your arrows than we are with blades,” Alistair said to Nathaniel. “We’ll try to draw him as far away as possible.”

 

“It will ultimately be up to Anders,” Wynne said. “He may still be strong enough to completely cast out Justice, or at least fight with us, which will give all of us the best chance for success. Now, we best hurry.” The four of them drank their potions and Tambra began casting while Carver, Connor, Brody and Stroud stayed by each participant. Ser Pounce-a-lot watched from a corner of the room; he’d been avoiding Anders since the mage’s return. Justice’s presence acted as reverse catnip.

 

Alistair opened his eyes. He thought at first he was still in Vigil’s Keep but quickly realized it was a fuzzy Fade version, “You know, Wynne, a nice meadow would be nice. I certainly hope this is better than my last two trips here.”

 

“Would you like rainbows and unicorns as well, Alistair?” the elderly mage asked pleasantly, gentle sarcasm directed at the genial warrior.

 

“Of course not,” he grinned at her, “griffons and rainbows are much better.”

 

Fenris scowled, “Let us hurry and be done. The sooner I can leave this cursed place the happier I will be.”

 

“Good to know you’re capable of happiness,” Alistair retorted. “From all I’ve heard you don’t even smile. Wynne, this is your territory, lead the way.” He bit back a chuckle when he realized they were walking on a rainbow. Fenris brought up the rear.

 

A wisp of Faith guided them to Anders, who was now sitting up and rubbing his temples, Justice standing guard next to him. He stood when he heard them, “You tricked me,” he accused.

 

“For your own good, Anders,” Wynne answered mildly. “This parasitic merge with Justice has gone on for too long and hurt too many, including you.” She was taking the lead for now, first appealing to Anders reason and better nature. “Alistair told me about your ambush, I am so sorry for what happened. What they did was inexcusable.” She smiled sadly, “For what it’s worth, those templars did not come from Greagoir’s command; he and Irving were glad you found a home with the Grey Wardens. They never believed you a maleficar or that you had ill intentions.”

 

“Those bastards hated me!” he yelled back at her.

 

“Young man, such language is unnecessary and do I need to remind you I am not deaf?” Wynne was every bit the schoolmarm Blake sometimes called her during the Blight. Alistair bit back a grin, remembering the number of times he was the recipient of the _tone_. Anders blinked and felt like a young apprentice once more. “You should remember enough of Circle life to know that the fraternities rarely agree. You disagreed with First Enchanter Irving’s decisions and policies more than once. You were not the only one. Others, however, are quite happy to live in the Circle. Should they lose their home because others are unhappy? That, however, is a debate that can wait. The First Enchanter walks a fine line, trying to keep all the mages under his care safe and pushing for change when he can. The Knight-Commander also walks a fine line, or should, trying to balance the needs of the mages for a safe environment, protecting them, and protecting the other citizens of Thedas from magic run amok. The Circle in Ferelden has changed since you were last there. I doubt you would like it,” the corners of her lips twitched and her eyes twinkled gently, “but it is better. They serve a purpose, unless you think demons and abominations should roam freely like birds in the sky.”

 

She watched him carefully, he was resentful, but he _was_ listening, “Which is why we’re here. You’re a good man and a good mage, Anders. Many people care about you and are worried on your behalf. You made, or were coerced into making, a very bad decision which is slowly destroying you.”

 

“It’s too late,” Anders voice was a raspy whisper, “I can’t undo what’s been done. We’re too entwined.”

 

Wynne stared at him for a full minute, searching for something. She tilted her head as if listening to someone and then answered him, “That is not true. You may believe it, but it is a lie. Justice can leave any time he wants,” the spirit stirred restlessly, “or any time you commit to casting him out. If he will not leave on his own then you need to use all of your will to cast him out, we will help you. But you can regain control of your life once again.”

 

Alistair deemed it was time for him to step in, “Justice stepped over the line from spirit to demon when he first suggested you two join together so you could fight for your fellow mages.”

 

Anders rubbed his forehead, “No, that’s not right. I needed his help to fight, to fight the templars who were waiting to take me away. They were surely going to kill me.”

 

“You are a Grey Warden and my brother, Anders,” Nathaniel spoke softly. “You are also my friend. Justice was also once my friend. However, I heard him several times offer to share his power with you in exchange for hosting his spirit to enable you to fight for mage freedom. You _always_ turned him down.”

 

“He took advantage of your desperation when you were attacked. He waited for his moment, then BOOM, you were joined. If he were truly a spirit, when they cut down Kristoff’s body he could have attached himself to one of the dead templars. With your skills I’m quite sure there were some available,” Alistair added, pushing against Anders’ denial.

 

Fenris surprised them all when he spoke, “Mage, I have learned much about you since I arrived here, including the details of your ambush. The story you told Hawke was a lie. You told her you thought you were helping a friend. _I_ thought you were a fool and a weakling. Did you believe the lie? Or could you not stomach the truth?”

 

Anders rubbed harder, “I’m trying to remember . . . I don’t know.”

 

Justice finally spoke, “I helped him when he needed help. None of you was there. The actions of those templars and the two Wardens with Anders were not just.”

 

Fenris curled his lips at the spirit but directed his comments to Anders, “When I was in the Fade to help Feynriel, I listened to the demon and turned against Hawke. I turned against the only true friend I had. I, I cannot fault you for accepting the help of Justice when you were fighting for your life when I was not stronger. I will fault you if you do not now cast out this demon.”

 

Anders stared at Fenris’ admission. Justice, however, finally lost his temper and stepped forward, away from Anders. “I am no demon!” he thundered, lyrium blue pulsing through his veins. “I am helping him achieve justice for his fellows. You,” he spoke to Wynne, “are a mage and should understand the injustices committed by these templars. The mages in Kirkwall need Justice.”

 

“Don’t presume to lecture me, demon,” Wynne retorted acerbically. “Not all Circles are like Kirkwall. The leaders of the other Circles, mages and templars alike, are worried about what we hear from Kirkwall and are taking steps to prevent those very same excesses from occurring elsewhere. Anders does not need you to help him. Nor does he see the injustice you are committing against him, sucking the life from him. You have willfully blinded him to the fact that he can be free of you if he wills it, unlike most mages who become abominations. Anders was against the Libertarians voting to free themselves from Chantry rule and the Circles. His manifesto preaches differently. Is that Anders or is that you, demon? How many gaps do you have in your memory, Anders? Times when Justice was in control but you have no idea what he did.”

 

“I don’t know,” Anders finally admitted, pulling his hair in an effort to think.

 

“You wanted more freedom, Justice wanted to fight.”

 

“Justice wanted to join forces but you always resisted.”

 

“You have friends and a woman who loves you but Justice keeps pulling you away.”

 

“You want mages to have the freedom to live their lives but Justice won’t allow you to be free to live yours.”

 

“You’re a healer, a good healer, but Justice nearly killed a young mage girl trapped by Ser Alrik. You saved her and then he tried to annihilate her. If it hadn’t been for Hawke bringing you back she’d be dead now.”

 

“You care about people but now Justice only lets you care about his cause.”

 

“Enough!” Justice bellowed, moving further away from Anders. He pulled his sword halfway out of its sheath. Alistair looked sideways at Nathaniel, who nodded. They could both see the spirit line between mage and spirit.

 

Anders was struggling to think, to act, but Justice was still interfering. Alistair saw he had no choice but to play his last card and hope it was enough. He also hoped Fenris continued to stay his hand; he could feel the elf’s impatience. He stalked towards the angry spirit, backing him farther away from Anders. “You asked me if you could fight the darkspawn because that was a good and righteous cause,” the Warden-Commander spoke softly. “You agreed to follow my orders. I allowed you into the Vigil and accepted you as one of my Wardens. And how did you repay me?” he thundered. His voice echoed and crashed through the Fade, “You violated the woman I love! In Kirkwall, when Fenris confronted them, you took advantage of my Janna’s condition. When she stunned them into unconsciousness, you used her as a bridge to get to those lyrium tattoos. You didn’t care if you hurt my child, you didn’t care that if Fenris woke he might very well kill Anders and her, and you didn’t care that Anders himself would never allow you to feed on another. You were nothing but a selfish, hungry demon seeking what you had no right to.”

 

Fenris stood rigid with anger, too full of rage to speak. He looked at Anders, the source of the trouble. The mage looked ill, as devastated and violated as he felt inside. Then, almost too fast to comprehend Anders shot something at the demon and shouted, “No! I’ve been a blind fool, whether due to your manipulation or my own foolishness, but I will not allow you to continue to use me. Begone demon!” He punctuated his melodramatic outburst with a bolt of lightning. The line between him and Justice broke, the recoil knocking him unconscious.

 

Wynne quickly cast a barrier around him while Alistair gave the signal to fight. Once battle took Justice's attention, Wynne sent Anders back to the Vigil. Now, they just had to keep the battle going long enough for Justice to be unable to repair the broken connection.


	117. Amends

Stroud kept watch over the fire and the surrounding area while Anders bathed. Tending the flames gave him something to do and he thought the mage would appreciate the comfort. They were in the same small grove where he and the little girl parted years ago when she left to rescue Alistair. He smiled a little, she never brought Alistair here and he could admit to himself that he was pleased she thought enough of their past relationship to keep a small part of it sacrosanct. Until now, he had only shared it with their daughter and her little dog. This was the _only_ place he allowed himself to think of Martelle as his daughter.

 

“I don’t remember this place,” Anders finally joined him, wearing cotton shirt and trousers while his robe dried. “It’s nice.”

 

“Yes, it is most pleasant. It is too close to the Vigil and too small to be of much use to bandits. I like to come here when I feel the need to be alone. After all those years recruiting by myself throughout the Free Marches sometimes the Vigil feels a bit confining,” Stroud answered politely.

 

Anders grinned, “I bet the Commander and Poppet like a little outdoor alone time, too.” He wasn’t ready to talk about the ritual and his glaring stupidity.

 

Stroud tried not to stiffen, “If so I believe they go elsewhere, which is fortunate since I sometimes bring Martelle here for a little picnic. I do not think they are ready to have that particular discussion with her.”

 

“No, no, I suppose not. I can only imagine them turning fifty shades of red when they do,” Anders forced a chuckle. He stared into the fire and absent-mindedly ate some of the provisions they grabbed on the way out of the fortress. “I can’t believe I was so blindingly stupid. I’ve always thought mages who turned to blood magic and demons were tremendously idiotic, and what do I do? I allowed Justice to use me, which hurt Tambra whose love I definitely do not deserve, and others. How do I make up for that?”

 

Now Stroud stared into the fire, “Sometimes you can’t. You apologize. You do not repeat your mistakes and strive to be a better man. Hope you can give her what she needs. This you do for yourself as much as for her.”

 

Anders waited, eyebrows raised, but Stroud said no more. He finally broke the silence, “You sound like you have personal experience. Not that I mean to pry,” he hastily added when the senior Warden looked at him stonily.

 

“Forgive me, Anders,” Stroud stopped glaring at the mage. “I should not be angry at you when it is my own words which bring forward unpleasant memories of past behavior. Yes, because of certain misunderstandings I was deliberately cruel, in word and deed, to someone who did not deserve it. That I was forgiven does not mean I do not cringe when I think of what I did, and I marvel at the gift of her friendship.” He studied the other man, “I owe you an apology. I should have been more aware of Woolsey’s duplicity. I might not have agreed with the Commander about your fitness to be a Grey Warden, but you are my brother and never would I have turned you over to the templars. I should have prevented it. By not doing my duty I failed you, a failure which I deeply regret.”

 

Anders couldn’t speak for several minutes he was so surprised. Finally, eyebrows raised, he shook his head slowly, and “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so much at one time, unless you were giving orders. I blamed you for making me give away my cat, but never for that. I don’t think anybody could have foreseen that. Is that why you helped me?”

 

“Not entirely, no. And the little girl suspected something was amiss even before Riordan informed us about the ambush.”

 

“Poppet is quite attuned to anything affecting her Ali,” Anders grinned. Something in the other man’s expression caught his attention and he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “She’s who you were talking about before, the woman you hurt, the woman-” He stopped himself from finishing, _“the woman you love.”_ He did some swift calculations, “ _And I thought it was Nate who fathered Martelle, but I’m a darkspawn’s granny if her father isn’t sitting right in front of me._ ” He marveled at the vagaries of fate.

 

“Yes, she is the one I hurt. Fortunately the little girl has a generous nature,” Stroud growled.

 

Anders got up and began to pace. He finally stopped and looked at his companion, “Thank you. Whatever your reasons for helping me, I appreciate it. I see now that Justice would have consumed me until there was nothing left. I think, I think if it weren’t for Tambra he might have already succeeded.”

 

“Eat and gather your strength, Anders. We will return once you have sufficiently recovered. By then the others should have returned from the Fade,” Stroud directed.

 

“Justice is completely gone, there are gaps where he used to be,” Anders assured him.

 

“Good.” Stroud didn’t bother mentioning that others would verify the truth of that statement.

 

Ser Pounce-a-lot, who quietly trailed them, chose that moment to plop into Anders’ lap. The mage grinned, “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me? I’m sorry, kitty. I missed you,” he stroked the feline as he used to do. Pounce’s purrs grew louder in contentment. The two men didn’t speak further; there was no need.

 

Before they left Anders looked up at the night sky, “I’m glad it’s a clear night and we can see the stars. Even in the best circumstances they’re hard to see in Kirkwall, not that Justice ever cared to look.”

 

When they saw the gates of the Vigil a figure ran forward; it was Jannasilane. Merrill followed more slowly. Jannasilane slowed briefly then embraced Anders, “I am so glad you returned, my Anders. Tambra was worried you might be angry but it worked. You are all you and nobody else, I can feel this.”

 

Anders hugged her back, “I’m just me, Poppet, thank you and thank the Maker. I’m sorry, Poppet. I’m sorry I worried you, sorry I failed you, sorry I hurt you, and sorry I put you and Alistair to so much trouble. Since you’re here, I am guessing everybody else returned safely. Where is he, anyway?”

 

“Eating,” she shrugged. “He makes puppy dog eyes at Orana and that poor girl makes more cinnamon buns.”

 

“Jealous?” Anders grinned.

 

“Perhaps I would be, but they are very good buns,” she grinned back at him. She released her hold on the mage and embraced Stroud, “Thank you, Jean-Marc, for helping.”

 

He kissed the top of her head and released her, “Anders is not the only one who wishes to make amends, little girl. I am glad to have the opportunity. Since you mentioned cinnamon buns, I suddenly find myself hungry again. I shall go see if the Arl-Commander has left any for the rest of us. Merrill, I hope you enjoyed your outing to the Wending Wood,” he nodded politely and left.

 

“Ooh, that sounds good,” Jannasilane murmured. “Anders, Tambra is in the chapel if you wish to speak with her,” she followed Stroud to the dining room.

 

Merrill studied Anders through hurt eyes, “I do not sense any spirits or demons, Anders. I’m glad you’re whole again.”

 

“I’m sorry it was necessary, Merrill. I want to apologize to you for all the hateful things I said over the years. I was a blind fool not to realize I should have been talking to myself. I still think blood magic is wrong, but I was equally wrong to treat you the way I did. I hope in time you can forgive me.”

 

“No, no, you were right. We were both wrong, both made mistakes that hurt people; you can just ask my clan about that. I appreciate the words, though, really I do,” the Dalish mage answered earnestly. “Perhaps we can, I don’t know, start over? Or is that too daft?”

 

Anders smiled gently, “No, Merrill, I think I’d like that.” He bowed gallantly, “In light, or in spite, of our recent acquaintance, may I escort you inside this fine fortress? Surely it is getting too dark for a fine lady to be outside by herself.”

 

Merrill giggled, “I think I am going to like this Anders much better than the last one.”

 

“I hope Hawke feels the same,” Anders smiled, only a trace of concern showing in his warm brown eyes.

 

Once inside, Anders stood alone in the courtyard thinking. He could go to Tambra in the chapel; he wasn’t quite sure what he could say, not yet. He could find the Commander; Alistair would probably be in his office or the dining hall, but that conversation could wait until tomorrow. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but that wasn’t the trickiest apology he had to make. He sighed, _“I need to find Fenris. Maybe he won’t kill me if I tell him I haven’t talked to Hawke yet,”_ he thought optimistically.

 

He found the taciturn elf on the ramparts. He kept his distance while Fenris paced and brooded. Finally the elf faced the mage, arms crossed, “I can feel you watching me, mage. What do you want?”

 

Anders sighed, “I didn’t want you to think I was sneaking up on you. I hear that’s a very bad thing to do to dangerous creatures.”

 

Fenris’ tattoos pulsed, briefly lighting the darkness, “You think I’m dangerous or a creature?”

 

“Well, both, really. We’re all creatures and you’re more dangerous than Ser Pounce-a-lot in a really, really bad mood,” Anders tried to be calm. He could sense Fenris glaring at him so spoke quickly, “Fenris, I’m sorry. Maybe I wasn’t quite an abomination but I can see now that in time I would become one. That really isn’t an apology, more of a ‘you’re right and I was wrong.’  I know what I’m about to say will shock you: we don’t get along,” he smiled weakly. “I doubt we’ll ever be friends but I am sorry about what Justice did. I never would have allowed him to do _that_ if I knew, for far too many reasons for me to count. The very idea makes me sick. Nothing I say or do can make up for it. If you decide you don’t want me to continue to heal you, I totally understand. I just . . . I’m sorry. I’m sorry that because of one stupid mistake I was even in a position to do something so, so monstrous. And, thank you for helping with my, with my intervention.”

 

“You are correct, we don’t get along. If I thought you knew what that demon did, I would tear your heart out right now,” the elf growled. “I find you exceedingly irritating and do not understand how Hawke can stand your foolish chatter. It is her choice to do so, however. I warn you, I will watch you. If I see any signs of renewed possession I will cut you down.”

 

“Don’t worry,” muttered Anders, “I don’t make the same mistake twice. That is, if I know about it. Well, I guess I better find Hawke. I have a lot of groveling to do there.”

 

Fenris’ face lit up with dark amusement, “Mage, we are once again in agreement. Somebody told me that flowers are a nice touch.”

 

Anders was horrified, “I thought you weren’t going to kill me now. Do you really think I’m going to risk Poppet’s anger this close to her wedding? I’m not about to exchange one angry woman for another, thank you very much for the suggestion.” He stalked off snarling about insane elves.

 

“And my work is done,” Fenris said to no one at all. After the revelations in the Fade, he didn’t feel like talking to anybody, he felt soiled and used. He hadn’t felt that way since he left Danarius and didn’t like the reminders. He also felt out of place, now that the Warden-Commander no longer needed his assistance. He regretted his actions; he admired the Hero of Ferelden and now he had no hope of claiming friendship. Too few humans were willing to accept dwarves and elves as equals, measuring them by their character rather than their race and he’d managed to earn the enmity of one. “Perhaps I should stay on Isabela’s ship until we return to Kirkwall,” he said to himself, rounding a corner only to see the bride-to-be sitting against the wall and looking pensive. “I apologize, I do not mean to intrude,” Fenris said gravely.

 

“You’re not intruding, Fenris,” Jannasilane said softly. “You can join me, if you like. I thought I was hungry, but realized I wanted some quiet time. My Ali has ‘forbidden’ me from going to my tower until after our child is born.”

 

Fenris snorted, “I have not known you long but I cannot see anybody successfully forbidding you from any place you wish to go.”

 

Jannasilane grinned at him, “This is truth. It is also truth that there is merit in my Ali’s instructions. If something were to happen in my tower, nobody would know. Here, many people are near. Thank you for helping us, helping Anders.”

 

“I pay my debts,” he sat down near her, careful not to touch her again. “If you no longer wish me to stay I will leave. I am sure Isabela will not mind if I remain on her ship.”

 

She looked at him in surprise, “Of course you can stay. Do you really think we would ask you to come and help us if we were just going to shoo you away when we were finished? Do not be foolish or I shall become angry.” She smiled and turned her attention back to the stars.

 

He stared at her for several long moments, “I have heard your anger is a terrible and fierce thing. I will not risk it.” He leaned against the stone and studied the skies, wondering if he would find answers to some of his questions. His lips quirked slightly when she snorted at his answer, glad she did not move away. The silence between them wasn’t exactly friendly but it was surprisingly comfortable. He remained long after she left.

 

Tambra had a headache not even the cool shadows of the chapel relieved. She could still see Merrill’s kicked puppy look when she realized Keeper Marethari taught a human, even though that human helped them greatly with Feynriel, magic of the ancient elves, magic that she withheld from her First.

 

_“Merrill,” Hawke tried to explain, “She probably didn’t know it then. It was just bits and pieces she put on the shelf and forgot about until Feynriel started having nightmares. Then she remembered and studied them. You yourself told me she collected all kinds of information and what she didn’t understand she put aside until another piece came into her hands.”_

_“But she didn’t even tell me she had those bits and pieces,” Merrill wailed. “I was her First; it was my job to catalog every artifact, every scrap of information we came across. Even if I wasn’t her First anymore she knew how important our history is to me; and why did she teach_ you _?” she accused._

_“Because I asked,” Hawke replied bluntly. “I was afraid I might need it for Anders. I didn’t tell her that, but I think she knew. I decided not to tell you because I wanted to avoid this very scene if I never had to use the ritual. I knew you would be upset and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”_

_“Everybody thinks I’m so delicate, but I’m not. You could have told me,” the Dalish accused._

_Hawke had enough, she was tired and she lost her temper, “And yet here you are, crying because we didn’t tell you everything about everything. Forgive me for not wanting to hurt your feelings if I didn’t have to.”_

Anders found her staring up at the statue of Andraste. _“She looks so tired,”_ he thought guiltily. He could feel her headache and sent some healing magic in her direction. He knelt in front of her while she studied him, “Rough day? I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry I put you through this, sorry that my misguided actions so many years ago caused you any pain or difficulty. I hurt so many people because of that stupid, stupid decision. Can you ever forgive me?”

 

She smiled and he thought she’d never looked so beautiful, “There’s nothing to forgive, Anders. You warned me about Justice in the beginning. I’m a big girl; I’m only sorry that I lied to you. Although, speaking of lying, I think you could have told me the truth about your merger.”

 

“You are a better friend, a better lover, than I ever deserved,” he responded fervently. “I vow I will make it up to you,” he sat down next to her so she could rest her head on his shoulders. “You were right not to tell me, I’m sure Justice would have found a way to stop you. You were right not to confide in Merrill, you know. She’s upset, but she’ll come around in time. The only way she could keep a secret is to sew her lips together or take away her voice. When they were handing out discretion she forgot to get in line.”

 

Tambra gave a tired laugh and then buried her face in his shoulder, “I was so worried I would lose you. You couldn’t see how he was consuming everything about you; sometimes I didn’t even recognize you.”

 

“Looking back, especially the last three or four years, I don’t always recognize myself. Maker forgive me for being such an idiot.”

 

“You’re better now, that’s the important thing. You are better now?” she sat up to search his expression for any trace of _anything_.

 

“Yes, love, what you see is all Anders. Wynne checked me, after giving me an incredibly long lecture. That woman made me feel like a first year apprentice,” he shook his head. “Poppet and Merrill can confirm that I am Justice-free. And I promise, I am all yours for as long as you’ll have me,” he said. “Fenris suggested I come bearing flowers.”

 

She snorted, “Then it is a very good thing you didn’t take his advice. I was willing to protect you from Justice but I am not going to protect you from Jannasilane if you steal any of her flowers days before her wedding.”

 

“Coward,” Anders teased.

 

Alistair was too busy the next couple of days to speak to Anders. Instead, Anders and Tambra had a ceremonial ‘burning of the feathery pauldrons.’ Carver, Oghren, Sigrun, Nathaniel and Saykor joined the visitors from Kirkwall at the site of Anders' ambush. “Friends and interested observers,” Anders began with a twinkle, “five years ago I was ambushed at this very spot. Two Grey, no, two thugs wearing the colors of the Grey Wardens, working against our esteemed Arl-Commander, also known as the Hero of Ferelden, -”

 

“Get on with it you long-winded man skirt,” Oghren grumbled, “there’s ale waiting.”

 

“Then don’t interrupt and it won’t take as long,” Anders sniffed. “This is where events took place that led to the worst decision of my life, though to tell the truth, I thought I was going to die anyway and wanted to take out as many templars as I could. Now, thanks to my love and my friends, I am completely myself without an extra person to get in the way of my sparkling personality. I never wore these things before that day. I have no desire to wear them again. Merrill, since you said I reminded you of molting ravens I am going to give you the honor of lighting the fire to symbolize the beginning of my new life.”

 

“I think I liked him better before,” Fenris muttered.

 

Sigrun slapped him on the back, “Cheer up, Broody, you can’t sulk in dark corners all the time.”

 

“Now, time to get naked and dance around the flames,” Anders cried. Nobody moved, though a few grinned. “No? How about we hold hands and sing a song about new beginnings?” More people were grinning but nobody looked like they wanted to sing. Anders pouted, “Fine, everybody clap politely or heartily, yell hurrah if you want to, and we’ll go get drunk. First round is on me.”

 

“You mean Hawke, don’t you?” Varric called out, causing everybody to laugh. The Crown and Lion in Amaranthine profited handsomely.

 

When Alistair entered his office the next morning, Anders was waiting for him. Alistair studied the mage and grinned; Anders looked terrible, pale and shaky, head down, eyes closed, hair mussed; _“He must have the mother of all hangovers.”_ Still grinning he slammed the door shut; eliciting a painful groan from the other man, slapped Anders on the shoulders and, in an overly loud and cheerful voice greeted him.

 

Anders slowly opened one bloodshot eye, “I can’t begin to tell you how much I hate you right now.”

 

“I thought you had a cure for hangovers,” Alistair spoke more quietly, trying not to laugh.

 

“I do, but I’m enjoying my misery,” Anders shot back, then winced at the sound of his own voice. “Maybe not quite as much as I thought I would,” he moaned. 

 

Alistair almost regretted what was coming but it was too late, he could hear the servants and Sigrun coming closer. He opened the door with a flourish, “Thank you! Anders, breakfast is here.” He then stepped behind his desk while the Vigil servants brought in small tables and loaded them with coffee, hot tea, plain bread and butter, eggs, bacon, cinnamon buns, ham, oatmeal and a few other tidbits for a full Warden breakfast. Anders got greener as each platter was set down and covers removed.

 

Sigrun clapped the mage on the back, “Enjoying your hangover yet? I don’t think Nate’s enjoying his at all. He cursed me and practically kicked me out of bed, _my_ bed.” Her cheerful voice didn’t make Anders feel any better. Alistair quietly scooted his wastebasket closer to the other Warden, just in case.

 

“I didn’t realize you had such a mean streak in you, sir,” the steward whispered.

 

“I have to have my fun and Janna won’t let me get drunk. ‘If I cannot carouse, you cannot carouse,’ she told me. If I’ve learned one thing, Mel, it’s that some battles aren’t worth fighting,” Alistair whispered back.

 

“Maker bless your good lady and all women,” Mel answered fervently. Winking at the Arl-Commander he hurried the rest of the servants away and banged the door closed behind him. Sigrun cheerfully and loudly followed suit.

 

“I was wrong. Now I hate you, really, really hate you,” Anders held his head in his hands. “You are mean and vicious.”

 

Alistair snorted, “If I were really mean I would have done a mana cleanse so you couldn’t cure yourself.” He poured coffee for himself and a cup of strong tea for Anders. He nearly laughed at the look of alarm on the other man’s face.

 

Anders glared at him then sighed. He finally healed himself of the worst effects and drank his tea. He closed his eyes and savored the hot beverage for a moment. When he opened them, Alistair had already piled his plate high with food and was sitting back behind his desk. He decided to risk eating, settling for bread and butter with a little bacon. “I think I’ve enjoyed my hangover long enough,” he answered his Commander’s unspoken query. “I suppose you think it’s silly, but it’s been years since I’ve enjoyed more than a single ale or glass of wine, and even then only rarely. Justice didn’t approve, you see. Imagine your worst hangover ever then add a booming voice inside your head. Not your voice, the inner voice we don’t always listen to, but somebody else’s voice yelling at you, the echoes bouncing around inside your skull. Spirits, demons, whatever, they don’t get tired. Justice could go on for hours, or days even.”

 

“Ouch,” Alistair winced in sympathy and shook his head. “All right, I can see why even a hangover might have its attractions. Take your time, when you’re ready we can discuss your situation.” The room was silent except for the sounds of eating and the occasional paper rustling as the Arl-Commander read some of the reports on his desk.

 

After a time Anders sighed, “Commander,” he waited until he had Alistair’s full attention. “Commander, you’ve been a better friend and a better leader than I deserve. Thank you for taking the trouble to save me, more than once. I’ve been running for as long as I can remember and it’s time to stop. I’m ready to fully commit to being a Grey Warden in any capacity you’ll have me. Well, after I take care of some things in Kirkwall.”

 

“Oh? I don’t suppose you mean a pretty mage who also happens to be the Champion of Kirkwall?” Alistair drawled with a knowing twinkle. He bit back a laugh when Anders blushed. He’d never seen the man blush; Anders usually caused others to blush.

 

“Well, no, not exactly,” Anders was flustered. “Commander, Alistair, I’m fully recovered from my, um, separation and I’m concerned. I have gaps in my memory, not the typical things somebody might not remember, I mean whole blocks of time I can’t account for. I read my ‘manifesto’ about mage freedom and frankly, it scares me. The rhetoric, the tone, is all very . . . aggressive. I can’t help thinking Justice did something he wanted to hide from me. I hope his endeavors are only in the planning stages and can be stopped but I’m going to need some time.”

 

“Bad?” Alistair frowned, drumming his fingers on the table.

 

“Maybe Arishok-bad,” Anders admitted unhappily.

 

Alistair’s jaw dropped in alarm. “Maker!” he finally exclaimed. The two men talked into the middle of the afternoon about Anders’ future, both immediate and long-term. When Anders left, he was thoroughly chastened and subdued. He also felt lighter than he had in years. The Commander insisted he give as detailed an account as possible of his activities since he left Ferelden; Alistair wanted to know about everything from the primeval thaig to the state of the refugees in Kirkwall to the Circle of Mages and the templars. The telling, putting his thoughts in order and knowing they were _only_ his thoughts helped the mage regain his mental footing.


	118. A Beautiful Day for a Wedding

Jannasilane fretted at the window. After building for the past two days, grey clouds now promised to deliver rain for her wedding. She and Alistair wanted to be married on the roof, under the open sky, a symbolic distance from the Deep Roads. “I suppose it’s the ballroom after all,” she sighed.

 

“Not so fast young lady,” Wynne and Leliana entered her bedroom. Earlier the women banished Alistair to a guest room until after the ceremony. “I think you are forgetting the number of mages on the premises. We’ve already constructed a barrier to keep the roof and the courtyard dry until nightfall. Rain may sluice down the sides but you can still be married under the sky and your guests won’t get wet. Consider it a wedding gift.”

 

“I shall help you get ready and keep you entertained until it’s time,” the bard smile prettily. “Zevran is already checking your security to make sure he’s the only assassin present. Anders and Varric are keeping Martelle and Strake occupied until they need to dress. She is going to be an adorable flower girl. And Strake, well, he is so serious, is he not? He is very determined to do you and Alistair proud; it is almost hard to believe that he is Oghren’s son. First, you need a massage to relax you and then a warm bath with special oils to make your skin soft and dewy. Alistair is going to ache to touch you.”

 

“I suppose you think you’ve thought of everything, General Charming,” Janna teased her friend with Nathaniel’s nickname for her. When Leliana arrived, she took control of all the wedding planning, to Alistair’s complete delight. The bard was ruthless and relentless; she charmingly dragooned every one into helping including Fenris.

 

“Hmm,” Leliana prettily tilted her head and pretended to think, “we know people will eat and drink too much; Anders and Brody made dozens of potions. Your guests enjoyed the archery contest, I think even more when they saw Alistair’s face when he was forced to give away some of his prized cheese.” They all laughed because in spite of his gracious speech the cheese-loving templar did look like he was sucking on a lemon. Leliana continued, “The children enjoyed their picnics and are happy they contributed to the big event. Did you know they examine all the floral arrangements to see if they can find the exact flowers they picked? And, biggest task of all, I convinced _your_ daughter that she really didn’t want to wear pink and that the dogs would be much happier watching from behind the Revered Mother. So I think I will congratulate myself, thank you.”

 

“Don’t forget the hunting parties you organized to keep our guests busy and add to our food supply. Our cook told me she didn’t have to worry about supplies for some time, and since she feeds Grey Wardens that is really saying something,” Jannasilane added.

 

Wynne finished preparing a rich, soothing tea for the bride while Leliana prepared her for her massage, “I’m surprised that Fenris is so talented with flowers. He is such a surly and private young man I don’t know how you discovered his skill,” the mage handed each of them a cup. It was true; Fenris was an artist of floral arranging and created strikingly lovely displays for the wedding.

 

Down the hall, Alistair was pacing in his room while Blake and General Lee watched in amusement. “793,” Blake said.

 

Alistair stopped and stared at his friend. “What are you talking about? 793 what?” he asked.

 

“That’s the number of steps you’ve taken since you started pacing. Why are you so nervous? You’ve wanted to marry Package for years. Leliana took charge of all the arrangements, and for a noble wedding this is practically a private ceremony.”

 

“I don’t know,” the big warrior ruefully admitted. “Maybe that’s why? I’ve wanted it for so long it doesn’t seem quite real?” Alistair flopped onto the bed only to spring up and begin pacing again.

 

Blake looked at General Lee and shook his head, “Maybe Zevran’s massage will get him to relax.”

 

This time Alistair stumbled to a stop, “M-massage?” His voice practically squeaked the last syllable. He began shaking his head, “No, no, not necessary.” He turned around and almost bumped into the assassin who had quietly entered the room.

 

“Tsk, tsk, Alistair,” Zevran admonished the templar, “I promised not to try and seduce you. And do you really think I would hurt the most beauteous Pocket Goddess on the day of her wedding? I have already given her one of my special, platonic massages and she is much better for it. As you will. Now, off with your clothes, or at least your shirt.” In spite of the Antivan’s powers of persuasion, Alistair refused. His fellow Warden’s testimonials on the enjoyment he could receive only reinforced his refusal.

 

After dressing for her role as bridesmaid, Leliana put the final touches to Jannasilane’s ensemble. “Orana is so talented with hair, the Champion is lucky to have her. How fortunate that she was able to incorporate this lovely gift from the Couslands so you could wear both it and Isolde’s pearls,” she double-checked the fastenings.

 

“Isolde was so sure I would reject her pearls in favor of the sapphire. Did you know it belonged to their mother? It was supposed to go to their sister Elissa,” Jannasilane sighed over their loss. Earlier that day, Fergus and Blake gave her the necklace, declaring their parents would approve. The sapphire was stunning, a deep blue, perfect oval on a deceptively simple chain comprised of silver and gold links.

 

“They care for you very much; you are indeed their sister, a sister of the heart. It is a beautiful sapphire but it would not do against your dress. Against your lace mantilla, it looks stunning and carries the blue upward. Lady Isolde’s pearls are the perfect complement around your neck. I can understand why it is an heirloom piece; it takes a long time to find such beautifully matched pearls. And this centerpiece of teardrop pearls? Exquisite. They are a perfect match to your lace. She must think highly of you to lend you such a valuable piece of jewelry.”

 

“She did say it was a local custom from her home in Orlais, the bride wearing something borrowed. She is grateful that Connor is here. And our daughters are best friends; I think young Janice Lynette Guerrin has her heart set on one of Pinktara’s puppies,” Jannasilane spoke lightly.

 

“I admit that I hoped we would find homes for all her adorable babies,” Leliana responded. She refrained from mentioning that Wynne was worried about Eamon’s wife. The birth of their daughter was a difficult one, especially for an older woman such as Isolde. The Arlessa never completely recovered. “It occurs to me,” the bard chuckled, “that thanks to Lady Isolde you now have ‘something old, something new, and something borrowed, something blue’. You can start your own tradition.”

 

Somebody knocked at the door. Leliana opened it cautiously to make sure it wasn’t the groom. Stroud spoke, “My lady bard, might I have a brief private word with the bride?”

 

Leliana was curious but agreed, “I need to make sure Martelle hasn’t snuck something pink into her hair or on her dress, anyway. She can be quite devious for somebody with two such un-sneaky parents.” She shut the door behind her.

 

Jean-Marc stared at the vision in front of him. A simple, dark blue underskirt of rich velvet was only the beginning. Over it was a loose, high-necked silk dress of Grey Warden blue, embroidered with the famed griffons in thread of the same blue and occasionally twisted with either silver or gold. The bottom of the dress was fringe, the line between fringed and solid silk higher in the front, just above her knees, than the back. The top layer was an unusual tunic of warm white lace panels and velvet latticework. Thin velvet ribbons, the same material as the underskirt, connected the lace panels and easily adjustable. The total length was above her ankles, but as with the dress, became fringe, following the fringe line of the dress but a few inches higher. At the bottom corner of every lace panel, the dressmaker attached a velvet bow and tassel, adding a flirty fillip. When Janna walked, the fringe flounced around her and created changing patterns. The lace tunic scooped very low and wide, leaving the entire upper slope of her bosom free to display the dress underneath. Instead of velvet lacings, more than a dozen individual velvet bows fastened the front together. The pearl necklace complemented the dress perfectly.

 

To give Jannasilane some extra height, some of her hair was, thanks to Orana, twined with velvet ribbons on top of her head. A band of lace around her head, the Cousland sapphire centered over her forehead, and a lace mantilla attached to the small tier of hair and ribbon completed her attire. Leliana’s artful hand subtly highlighted Jannasilane’s eyes and lips, but nothing could compete with the glow of happiness emanating from the small woman. “You have never looked lovelier, little girl,” he said hoarsely. “I hope the Commander knows just how fortunate he is.” Rare mischief caused him to say, “The minute he sees you he is going to want to untie every bow. If you ever need to seduce him, just wear the lace.”

 

Jannasilane blushed, and then she laughed, “I’ll have to remember.”

 

“I did not come here to tell you how beautiful you are; others can do so far better than I. Little girl,” he sighed, “over the years there are sometimes whispers about you and I, and Martelle. The love between you and Alistair does more to quiet the rumors than any denial. However, I think we can stop them from recurring if the gossips see me in a more paternal role. I spoke to Fergus, and he agrees, but the decision is yours. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you down the aisle?”

 

“Are you sure, Jean-Marc?” she studied him, a slight frown on her face. She knew he still loved her, and didn’t want to cause him any pain.

 

“I want your happiness, little girl. Anything I can do to ensure this happiness is truly my pleasure. You have my word as a Grey Warden and former chevalier.” He bowed over her hand.

 

“Then I would like that very much,” she admitted with a smile.

 

The guests gathered on the roof, some of them watching the sky warily. When the first drops fell, Isolde turned to Eamon, “Husband, we could have used such a barrier when we married.”

 

In a rare display of gallantry, the Arl of Denerim lifted her hand to his lips, “I remember nothing but sunshine and rainbows, my dear.” Behind them Teagan raised his eyebrows, Eamon was generally quite reserved. Isolde’s blush of pleasure surprised him as well. When Ginetta discreetly elbowed him, he looked into her face, and understood exactly what his brother meant.

 

Soft music from lutes and harps filled the air as Alistair stepped on the dais and moved to the altar with Blake and Strake. Felsi and Oghren beamed with pride to see their son standing with the Arl-Commander. All present agreed that the Hero of Ferelden looked especially handsome in his wedding suit of indigo blue trimmed with bronze and gold. He eclipsed even the king’s dark good looks. When the men were in place Leliana gently directed Martelle to begin her walk.

 

Alistair smiled when he saw his ‘Martypants’ walking down the aisle strewing white, pink, and red flower petals as her godmother taught her. _“She looks so serious,”_ he thought, _“and like a pixie princess in her blue dress. I bet she gave Leliana a demon of a time about not wearing pink. My frilly little girl must be pleased about the gold lace stockings, though.”_ Leliana began singing, her voice blending beautifully with the stringed instruments, when Martelle was halfway to the altar. The rain merely added a note of poignancy to the event.

 

As soon as she reached her father, Martelle looked up at Alistair, “Did I do a good job, Daddy?” She asked in a loud whisper heard by several of the guests, who smiled indulgently.

 

“Absolutely perfect, princess,” Alistair responded and she rewarded him with a beaming smile of pleasure. They watched Leliana approaching, still singing softly while she walked down the aisle. Her dress was similar to Martelle’s, a sleeker version that accented her beauty and made her eyes seem bigger and bluer. Her song didn’t end until she was standing next to Martelle.

 

A beat of silence and then the musicians changed to a joyful and romantic ballad, one the Arl and his lady particularly enjoyed. Jannasilane began walking down the aisle, Jean-Marc accompanying her. The guests smiled at her but she didn’t see them, she only saw her warrior and her daughter. Alistair gazed at her as if she were a waking dream. Martelle slipped her small hand into his much larger one, “Oh, Daddy, Mommy looks so pretty.”

 

_“Thank you Maker, I am a lucky, lucky man,”_ Alistair thought.

 

A roaring started to fill his head as he focused on his love, a roaring that got louder the closer she came until he felt a light thump in the middle of his back, “Breathe, big guy,” murmured Blake sotto voce. Alistair let out his breath in a whoosh and began to breathe normally again, to his daughter’s amusement. She giggled; Strake frowned at her in disapproval; she stuck her tongue out at him. Alistair didn’t notice any of it. Blake winked at Leliana who bit her lip to keep from laughing.

 

Alistair moved forward when she and Stroud approached the dais. Jean-Marc placed her hand in his, “Your bride, Commander. Keep her, treasure her, and guard her well.” He put the slightest emphasis on the word ‘your’.

 

“I will,” Alistair promised. “Thank you, Jean-Marc.”

 

Stroud spoke to Jannasilane, “Be happy with your warrior, little girl, you and he deserve this.”

 

“Thank you, Jean-Marc,” she echoed.

 

Before he took her to the altar, Alistair trailed one finger down the side of her face, “Just when I think you can’t be any more beautiful, you prove me wrong. I am a lucky, lucky man.”

 

She smiled up at him, no longer nervous, “I am the lucky one, my Ali. You are the most handsome of men, this is truth.”

 

Hand in hand, they moved to the altar where the Revered Mother waited with a smile on her face. “Friends, this is a day of joy as we prepare for the joining of Alistair Theirin and Jannasilane Alenahaella in blessed matrimony. Before we begin the ceremony, the bride and groom wish to say a few words. Alistair, you may begin.”

 

He faced her and brought her hands to his lips, “Janna, my love, when we met on the road to Lothering I knew duty. You gave me purpose. I was alive but you showed me how to live. I thought I was content but I realized my life was grey and bland. You showed me joy and passion and, most of all, love. You made me whole and filled my days with all the colors of the rainbow. I am the man I am today because of you. I love you, and am yours, always.”

 

“My beautiful Ali,” she said softly but clearly, “after the death of my parents I was scared, tired, and alone and so very, very cold both inside and out. Then I met two Grey Wardens and I thought I was dreaming. Your smile warmed me, and for the first time I felt safe and no longer tired or lonely. You drew me, with your warmth and kindness, as the sun draws the face of a flower. You stole my heart that day. On this, the day of our wedding, I give it to you freely. I love you, and am yours, always.”

 

When they faced the Revered Mother, she was blinking back tears, as were many of their friends, “It almost seems superfluous in light of your declarations, but let us proceed with the official ceremony. The love shared between two people is a reflection of the love between the Maker and Andraste, and the love he feels for his children. As you begin your lives together, I find the following verse from the Chant of Light particularly appropriate:

 

> ‘I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade
> 
> For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light
> 
> And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.’”

 

She reached the end of the ceremony, “You have chosen to give rings to each other symbolizing the eternal circle of love. Alistair, you may now place your ring on Jannasilane’s finger.” Strake stepped forward soberly. Alistair winked at him and the young dwarf relaxed a little. The warrior picked up two bands, one ironbark for her to wear always, and one traditional band of gold. Both engraved with ‘Always, Alistair’ on the inside. The Revered Mother barely raised an eyebrow; she had come to expect the unusual from these two. “Jannasilane, you may now place your ring on Alistair’s finger.” Janna picked up the remaining ring, a thick gold band engraved with griffons on the outside and ‘Always, Jannasilane’ inside. She carefully slipped it onto his finger. The Revered Mother placed her hands on top of their joined ones, “Now, let us bow our heads in silence and give thanks to our Maker for the gifts he has bestowed.” After a moment, she raised her head and removed her hands from theirs, “From this day forward you are husband and wife, let no man rend asunder. Alistair, this is one tradition you may choose to follow, you may now kiss your bride.” She couldn’t help chuckling slightly at his alacrity in doing so.

 

Alistair framed Jannasilane’s face with his hands. Before he kissed her he whispered, “Bows, you would have to wear bows.” They both flushed when they broke apart to cheers and laughter. They grinned at each other and quickly moved down the aisle, holding hands. The two children followed, leaving Blake and Leliana to bring up the rear.


	119. The Next Chapter

“What happens now?” Tambra finally asked the question that had been simmering under the wedding festivities. She looked out at the sea, _“It looks so calm right now, but there are lots of dangers below the surface just waiting for one mistake. I feel a little like that now.”_

 

Anders turned his gaze from the deceptively placid waters to the beautiful woman next to him. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m sorry love, I haven’t been the best company, have I? I love you. I would like nothing better than to be by your side every day and every hour.”

 

“But?”

 

“But I’m done running from my responsibilities. The Commander is giving me a chance to fix my mistakes and to be a proper Warden, Fereldan-style. He’s given me leave to stay in Kirkwall for a bit. Tambra, I need to find out what Justice was doing. There are gaps in my memory and I can only guess it’s because Justice didn’t want me to know what he planned. I won’t neglect my Grey Warden duties; I can’t exactly ignore darkspawn, but we both agree it’s better for me to investigate, well, myself, I suppose.”

 

Tambra tilted her head, “And then? What happens after you finish your investigation?”

 

“That partly depends on what I find,” he shrugged unhappily. “I’ll have to return to Ferelden, eventually. You have a life here; you’re the Champion, after all. I don’t want to lose you but I don’t know how much we’ll see of each other. I understand if that’s not enough. Maker knows you deserve more.”

 

“Anders, I love you. Kirkwall is my home now only because of Mother. In my heart, I am Fereldan and will always be Fereldan. I won’t be giving up anything important if I return. I’m sure I can find something to do in Amaranthine. I was talking to Felsi; she wants to expand her business. I think she has some good ideas.” She smiled, “What matters to me is we find some way to be together. And if I’m going to be honest, I respect you for your decision.  I think, in time, if you didn’t step up, we’d lose each other. That would hurt so much more than . . .”

 

“Seen anything of the happy couple?” Varric interrupted. He joined Anders and Hawke at the railing. They looked at each other and smiled ruefully. Fenris was with Sandal while Bodahn recuperated from a rare overindulgence. Isabela’s colorful curses at their speed and any sailor unfortunate enough to move too slowly for her liking filled the air in counterpoint to the calm sea and sky.

 

Leliana stopped practicing her lute, “Varric,” she answered playfully, “you should count yourself fortunate if they show up for your dinner party after we land in Kirkwall. Although, I do recall seeing figures late last night heading for the galley. Their size was right to be our favorite newlyweds. At least she hasn’t broken his nose again.” The two storytellers had been outdoing each other with stories of their companions during and since the Blight. Anders turned around, grinning. He’d wanted to hear this particular story for a long time. Merrill stopped trying to make friends with the ship’s cat and Tambra and Varric gaped at the pretty redhead.

 

“She didn’t, not really. Did she?” Merrill’s eyes were as big as Alistair’s prized cheese wheel. “There’s nothing wrong with his nose, I’m sure it works very well. Did it get in the way?”

 

“Hmm, no, that was the second time she broke it,” Leliana’s eyes twinkled at her listeners’ expressions.

 

“That explains his habit of holding the bridge of his nose when he’s stressed,” Anders laughed. “He’s making sure it’s still there. Please, pretty please, tell us the story.”

 

When she was done, Varric bowed to her, “Nightingale, you got me. I thought I told stories but I can’t compete. I can even hear the crunch of broken bones. I thought I saw weird shit traveling with Hawke, and I did, but you and the Wardens?”

 

When Alistair and Jannasilane finally emerged from their cabin cheers, whistles, and catcalls greeted them. The blushing couple joined their friends. One particular suggestion made Alistair pinch his nose, causing the others to roar with laughter. He glared at them suspiciously, “What? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

 

After they landed, Aveline and Donnic joined them in Varric’s rooms for dinner. “Congratulations to you both. I wish we could have gone, but we’re still catching up after we took leave for our own wedding,” Aveline said as she presented them with a selection of wines. She handed a smaller package to Jannasilane, “My father once told me that Mother favored candied nuts and ginger when she was pregnant. I thought you might like them as well.”

 

“Ooh,” Jannasilane’s eyes lit up, “I love candied nuts. I’ve never had candied ginger before. My Ali bought me some candied nuts the first time we were in Denerim, do you remember?” she smiled at her warrior.

 

“I remember,” he replied with a husky voice. He cleared his throat, “I also remember how you described savoring them.” He grinned at the memory, causing her to blush.

 

Isabela saw an opportunity. “So, Kitcat, tell us how you ‘savor your nuts’,” she purred. Varric choked, Donnic mumbled something to Aveline that caused the no-nonsense warrior to blush, and Anders laughed outright. Fenris smirked and reached for more wine while Merrill sighed. She just knew she missed something dirty again. Leliana whispered something about crevices and Hawke doubled over with laughter.

 

Dinner was a very merry affair, full of laughter, ribald comments, and ‘advice’ for the newlyweds. Isabela warned them her ship was leaving on the early morning tide so if they wanted time to savor nuts or anything else they better get a move on. She winked at Leliana, and grinned when the pretty bard winked back.

 

Early the next morning, when Jannasilane and Alistair dragged themselves on board the Siren’s Song, Leliana was waiting to greet them, “This will be so much fun; I cannot wait to show you the Grand Cathedral. Do not worry; I will take very little of your time. I will show you around the first day and then leave you alone to explore . . . whatever you wish to explore.”

 

Jannasilane studied her friend through bleary eyes, “You are remarkably chipper this morning, Leli.”

 

“Well, a good night’s sleep does have that effect,” Leliana replied innocently.

 

“Uh huh,” Jannasilane didn’t believe her friend for a moment but was too sleepy to pry. By tacit consent, she and Alistair watched Kirkwall fade from view before retiring to their cabin for a nap.

 

Alistair woke first. He smiled to himself; his wife was sprawled on top of him in the gently swaying hammock. _“My wife, I like the sound of that,”_ he gently caressed her back and savored the moment. It was so rare for them to have no duties or people waiting for them. Stroud, Nathaniel and Varel were perfectly able to take care of the Wardens and the Arling while he was away. Petra should be back at the Circle but Finn, Connor, and Kinnon were staying with some of the templars. Finn, of course, was studying the Avvar relics. _“He’s already making plans to return. Says he has to check some things out in the library before he can finish. Maybe he can help decipher some of the older entries in Janna’s mother’s journal. It’s nice to know that some of the templars are willing to work with mages on battle strategy. Ha, bet Greagoir will be surprised.”_ Janna stirred and re-settled. _“Isolde and I get along better, but we will never be friends; can’t say I’m sorry to be gone while she spends a few more days at the Vigil. Her daughter is cute as a button . . . who decided buttons were cute, anyway? I know Martelle is thrilled her friend will be taking one of Pinktara’s puppies. Let’s see, Fergus is taking one, Teagan is giving one to Ginetta . . . that just leaves one puppy. Lanaya seemed interested; maybe we should give it to her.”_

 

“You are thinking awfully hard, my Ali,” Jannasilane murmured lazily.

 

“Just thinking about how happy I am with my new wife,” he kissed her hair. “I like this hammock, it is surprisingly comfortable. Think we should get one for home?”

 

Janna lifted her head and smirked, “So you can fall out again? Certainly.”

 

“I only fell out twice,” he answered pouting. She raised an eyebrow, “Ok, three times,” he corrected, “but that one doesn’t count because my sexy new wife distracted me.”

 

“How many times are you going to refer to me as your new wife? You don’t have an old one in a closet somewhere, do you?” she teased.

 

“I don’t know, and no. I don’t think I do. Hmm, some of those templar watches were really, really boring. Could I be married and don’t realize it? Umm, huh-uh, nope, you’re my only ball and chain, a Warden’s warden,” he laughed until she tangled her fingers in his chest hair. “He-ey, unfair advantage,” he protested.

 

“I love your chest hair, my Ali, my husband,” she purred. “It is thick and crinkly and sensitive. I can curl my fingers in it or barely brush over it,” she lifted her hand and slowly skimmed her palm over the tips. Then she blew a slow puff of air across his chest. His nipples were hard buds, demanding attention and he tightened his arms around her.

 

He moved his hands to hold and knead her rear, “I am a lucky man.” He started to move only to topple them both out of the hammock. Fortunately, he was quick enough to protect her and take the brunt of the fall.

 

Jannasilane disentangled herself, laughing, “Four,” she gasped. He moaned in disgust and stood up, rubbing his elbow. They got dressed and headed topside where Leliana was watching the dance of sailors doing their job to music provided by creaking timbers, wind in the sails, and the commanding voice of their captain.

 

“I’m thinking of a sea chantey, but I’ve never composed one before,” Leliana commented. “They have a certain rhythm of their own and the sailors, they are so adept at moving around each other; it is quite marvelous to watch.” She turned around, “I believe we shall be in Val Royeaux the day after tomorrow, whether early or late will depend on the wind. She is in her element, isn’t she? On the sea, barking orders, bracing against the roll of the deck; Isabela is more herself than she is on land.”

 

Isabela left the wheel to stride towards the newlyweds. “You two,” she stared sternly at them, legs braced and arms akimbo, “I’ve had complaints from my men about all the thumping coming from your cabin.” A total lie, one man’s jest prompted several ribald and improbable scenarios that would cause the former templar and his bride to turn into pillars of flame.

 

Jannasilane and Alistair blushed, mortified, then Jannasilane started to giggle. The captain arched one lovely, studded eyebrow and the younger woman giggled even harder. Finally, she answered the unspoken question, “My husband keeps falling out of the hammock he likes so much.” The bard laughed.

 

“I’ll get the hang of it,” he muttered sheepishly.

 

Captain Isabela smiled slyly, “Sweeting, I’ll be glad to ‘show you the ropes’ later.” She sauntered off, pleased with herself.

 

“Maker,” Alistair mumbled when they all heard laughter coming from the pirate’s direction.

 

Val Royeaux was as wonderful as Leliana promised. They stayed in the _Oasis of Four Silks_ , a humble reference to the eight silk ‘scarves’ adorning the Belle Marché.


	120. Home Again

Martelle snuggled on her father’s lap, stroking the golden lion her parents bought her in Orlais. “Orlais has a lot of statues,” Alistair remarked. Dinner was over and now that they were relaxed, unpacked and refreshed, Alistair and Jannasilane were telling stories from their visit. “Well, Val Royeaux, anyway,” he qualified. “And all those masks, creepy. I don’t know how you stood it, Stroud, I really don’t.”

 

“It is easy when you grow up there, for you put on your mask just as you put on your shirt. However, I have been away long enough that I would not be comfortable doing so today,” he admitted with a smile.

 

“Val Royeaux is very beautiful,” Jannasilane added. “Very blue and gold and white, I can understand why Leliana feels Fereldan fashion-sense is lacking in comparison. Everything was so fancy, the clothes, the hats, the masks . . .”

 

“The shoes,” Alistair interrupted. The adults laughed, they were all aware of Leliana’s shoe fetish. “Even the guard uniforms were fancy. We seemed quite barbaric in their eyes I’m sure. We went into one store and the owner only had one thing to sell.”

 

Seneschal Varel shook his head, “That doesn’t make sense. How can he expect to make a profit from one item? What was it?”

 

Jannasilane shrugged, “We do not know. He said it was irrelevant, that the value was in purchasing the item, not the item itself. He, Deraboam, claimed the buyer would gain notoriety from the act of purchasing the item and not from owning the item. I do not understand,” she shook her head.

 

“For the inconsequential amount of 10,000 gold you can have the distinction of being the richest idiot in Thedas,” Alistair rolled his eyes.

 

“Ten _thousand_ . . . every casteless in Dust Town could start a new life on the surface,” not much shocked Sigrun, but this did.

 

Oghren snorted, “With plenty left over. I knew you humans were odd, but that’s positively sky-touched.”

 

“He sniffed and looked down his nose at me when I told him it seemed silly to me.”

 

“Everybody looked down on you, my love; if they don’t look down they don’t see you,” Alistair teased his wife.

 

Before she could respond, Stroud spoke up, “In the Grand Game, even such extravagance has hidden meanings, though I fail to see any at the moment. I would think, however, that intelligent and accomplished players could find other ways to make their moves. I never liked the Game; I prefer the Free Marches and Ferelden.”

 

Martelle fell asleep listening to stories of silk scarves, theatre, and the Grand Cathedral. Her parents put her to bed and returned to the library. Captain Garevel and others wandered in. They all respected Stroud and Nathaniel, but neither of them was the Warden-Commander. Alistair would have been surprised how much his people missed his presence, and Jannasilane’s. Janna curled into Alistair’s side and one of the Wardens handed him a brandy. He sighed happily, “Val Royeaux was beautiful, we even met Divine Justinia, and Cumberland was fascinating, but I am glad to be home.” He stroked his wife’s hair.

 

“What was she like? I know Leliana knew her before but that is all I know,” Varel asked.

 

Jannasilane snickered, “She wished to meet the man with such bizarre ideas on how to cook food.” Her listeners grinned, some of them had experienced Alistair’s ‘cooking’ and had no desire to do so again. “She was kind and thanked us for ending the Blight. She sees much when she looks at you; I think she has much wisdom and experience.” She remembered how awed she felt when they got closer to the Divine.

 

_Jannasilane did not expect to be either moved or awed when they entered the Grand Cathedral, she was not as devout as her Ali was. Alistair might jest a lot and be more open-minded than many, but he was still a Chantry boy. Leliana understated how beautiful the Chant was as performed by four Chanters with very distinct voices blending in a lovely and unforgettable harmony. Though 'performed' might be too theatrical a word. She reached for her new husband’s hand, unable to find the right words._

_Alistair squeezed the smaller hand in his; he was just as moved. “They really don’t need force or Exalted Marches to spread the word,” he whispered to his beloved, “They just need to let these guys travel Thedas.” She stifled a snicker; somehow, snickers just seemed wrong. They waited for Leliana to conduct them into the audience chamber where the Divine waited for them on the Sunburst Throne. The closer they came the straighter he stood. He knelt before her when Leliana introduced them, “Your Perfection, I am honored.”_

_“Stand young Alistair. There is no need to kneel before me, though such respect is as welcome as it is increasingly rare. Sister Nightingale tells me this is your first visit to Val Royeaux. She speaks highly of you both and I am pleased to make the acquaintance of such dear friends. Come, let us adjourn to my small salon and we shall partake of a late breakfast and pleasant conversation.” She stood and Alistair automatically offered her his arm then blushed, wondering if he was being impertinent. The Divine seemed not to notice and graciously took the proffered limb. She motioned for Jannasilane to walk on her other side while Leliana led the way. Justinia looked down at Jannasilane’s feet, “Child, I see Leliana was not exaggerating. If you do not mind an old woman’s curiosity, why do you choose not to wear shoes?”_

_Jannasilane looked into her eyes. The moment she saw the Divine she felt the woman was a Presence. She could not define it any other way; with the full attention of her gaze, she blurted out what she had only told Alistair, “Shoes make it harder to feel the, um, the s-soul of a place, Your Perfection. When my bare feet are touching the ground, I feel more connected; this is truth. Also, shoes make me feel most awkward.”_

_“Fascinating. I trust the two of you will indulge an old woman and tell me about some of your adventures,” she smiled and Jannasilane breathed more easily. Alistair and Jannasilane enjoyed the next two hours. The four of them spoke of many things including the Wardens’ adventures, opinions on the Chantry, the Chant of Light, elves, and Kirkwall.”_

 

“Her Most Holy is a remarkable woman. She speaks softly and kindly, but she is no fool. And definitely not a pushover. She barely lifted an eyebrow when I told her we taught basic templar skills to some of our warriors to combat darkspawn emissaries. Instead, she asked how well they worked with our mages. I think she was pleased to know we incorporated both efforts into our fighting, said it gave her something to think about,” Alistair said thoughtfully.

 

“Sounds like she is more progressive than her predecessor, that she doesn’t think mages and magic are automatically evil,” Zeke spoke up. The former apostate was happy to be a Warden, but if the Chantry made things easier for other mages, then even better.

 

“She isn’t going to have an easy time,” Alistair frowned into his brandy. “A lot of people in the Chantry hold to the notion that magic is a curse. In addition, powerful templars like Knight-Commander Meredith are not going to agree or change just because they have a new Divine. That woman raked me over the calls when I met her, said I was a disgrace for leaving the templar order and a weak and disruptive leader for allowing mages so much autonomy under my rule. I get the impression Wardens are pretty far down on her list favorite people.”

 

Jannasilane scowled and sat up, the glint of battle in her eye when she stared at her husband, “When was this, my Ali? You did not say anything.”

 

He quirked an eyebrow, “It certainly wasn’t on our honeymoon,” he drawled. “You know where I was every second,” he smiled when she blushed. “No, Jannalove, this was the last time. Remember I talked to Cullen? I was unfortunate enough to still be in the Gallows when she made one of her increasingly rare walks outside. I think somebody told her a stranger was talking to her Knight-Captain and she wanted to know more. She was pleasant enough until I mentioned I was a Grey Warden. Ending the Blight obviously wasn’t as important to her as my ‘lax’ stance on mages. I probably didn’t help her mood when I told her that we used templar ‘tricks’ against the darkspawn.”

 

“You smooth-talking diplomat you,” Sigrun quipped.

 

“If you ask me, she’s a bigger threat to Kirkwall than the Arishok was. She’s not letting the nobles pick a new Viscount; nobody meets her standards, such as letting the templars do whatever they (she) want. A lot of tranquil in the Gallows, and a lot more tension. I’ll tell you one thing; I’m not sending any of our mages to that area, not as long as she’s in charge. One is enough, and he has the additional protection of the Champion of Kirkwall.”

 

Stroud was shocked, “Do you think she would lock up one of our Wardens? That is not her province.”

 

Alistair shrugged, “Let’s just say I’m not willing to risk it. Maybe more templars are like Greagoir than Meredith; he is practically a rebel compared to her.”

 

“Dare you to say that to his face,” Zeke smiled. He remembered the Knight-Commander of Ferelden, progressive was not a term he would have used. “You’ve told us about the beauty of Val Royeaux, what was Cumberland like?”

 

“Cool,” Jannasilane replied and then clarified, “Their magic felt cool to me. We met many of their Mortalitasi, they are much like necromancers, I think. It was not a bad cool, such as an arcane horror demon, more like the cool, still water of a deep pond.”

 

“Where’s Carver?” Alistair looked around, realizing he hadn’t seen the younger man at all. “He was looking forward to visiting Nevarra; I think he’d want to hear about it.”

 

Stroud sighed, “I did not wish to tarnish your first night home, Commander. While you and the little girl were away, some of the Carta tried to get inside the Vigil. They were, of course, unable to do so. Instead, they began striking at our patrols, but only the ones that included young Carver. After these attacks began, we received word from Anders that his sister had suffered repeated attacks. What is more, kidnapping was the goal, not killing. The younger Hawke seemed as confused as the rest of us. I gave him leave to go to Kirkwall, by now that dwarf, Varric, will have some leads. I sent a couple of the Cousins and Harami to accompany him to Kirkwall. They will return after he reaches his sister; I did not think it wise to let him go alone. As soon as he left, the Carta’s actions against our men stopped as if they never occurred.”

 

“Harami?” As far as Alistair knew, the two did not get along. The brash, sarcastic human and the reserved, courteous elf, each with a chip on their shoulder, grated on each other’s nerves. As a result, they rarely patrolled together.

 

“He volunteered,” Zeke explained, his voice full of amusement. “I think a certain cinnamon girl might be the reason. He was very attentive to Orana before the wedding in a quiet, unobtrusive fashion.” He didn’t add what Harami told him once, that sometimes Orana reminded him of his wife. At least his friend and Joining brother was healing.

 

“They weren’t like any Carta I’ve ever seen,” Sigrun scowled. “I’ve known a number of dwarves in the Carta, used to be one, but these acted strange. I was on patrol with Carver a couple of times, they were intent on Hawke; they practically chanted his last name. I won’t say the Carta have never kidnapped anyone before, but it’s not like them to go after a high-risk target. Believe me; they don’t mess with Grey Wardens unless they have to. And their eyes, their eyes were weird. I contacted some people I know in the Legion; they might have heard or noticed something when they resupplied in Orzammar.”

 

“Huh,” Alistair absorbed the information.

 

“I do not like this, my Ali,” Jannasilane chewed her bottom lip.

 

“Me neither, but it sounds personal rather than Warden-related. With Anders and all of Tambra’s friends to help them, my money is on the Hawke brother and sister. We’ll just have to wait.”


	121. Legacy

Two months later Carver returned with Anders. Nathaniel was in the Commander’s office reading some of the reports from the Warden taverns. He looked up when Carver entered, “Glad to see you safely returned. How –Anders? What are you doing here? The Champion, is she -?”

 

“She’s fine, thank the Maker. Where’s the Commander? We have a lot to tell him.”

 

“He’s in Denerim at the moment. He plans to take any new recruits to Stroud at Soldier’s Peak before returning,” Nate replied.

 

Carver and Anders looked at each other then shook their heads at Nathaniel, “I think you better send him a message telling him to come here instead,” Anders suggested.

 

“He’s gonna want Stroud here, too,” Carver added.

 

Nathaniel looked at them, “Are you just going to be cryptic or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

 

Neither of the other men looked particularly happy. Anders finally replied, “Nate, it’s big, it’s complicated, and I really don’t want to talk about it more than we have to. The Commander will have to inform Weisshaupt, I suspect.”

 

“He’ll love that,” Warden-Constable Howe frowned. Then he shrugged, “Fine, I’ll send messages to Alistair and Stroud. Go find Mouse. She was rather annoyed that the Carta bothered one of ‘her’ Wardens. Let her know she doesn’t need to hunt them down.” The three men exchanged grins; they knew how protective she could be.

 

“When I got to Kirkwall I had to wait for some of Varric’s contacts to return,” Carver began a few days later. They were in a small, comfortable sitting room near the Commander’s office. “He wanted to triple-check his information before we started to track down this group. We needed to head into a remote area of the Vimmark Mountains and we didn’t want to get lost.”

 

_“What is this place?” Carver scowled and wiped sweat and dust from his brow._

_“I only know it shouldn’t be here, here shouldn’t be here. It’s not on any map I or my contacts have found. Whatever they’re doing, they’re not acting like Carta. See those caravans lying in the dust? The Carta doesn’t usually mess with the Merchants' Guild; it’s bad for business. Their normal business, anyway,” Varric was worried and confused, which only made him more worried._

_Anders smiled grimly, “They’re fools for coming after you, love, no matter what they want.”_

_“I want to know why they attacked me and I want them to stop. I’ll even bake the crumpets for tea,” Tambra huffed._

_“Good thing I’ll be back in Ferelden by then,” Carver quipped._

_“Trust me, anything is better than Alistair’s cooking,” Anders responded with a grin. “I’ve never seen anybody who managed to burn rabbit to a crisp and yet have parts still raw.”_

_“I feel so flattered,” Tambra said sarcastically. Carver laughed and Anders looked sheepish._

_Carver looked around, “Some of us should stay here to keep a lookout and protect our backs.”_

_“I’ll stay,” Aveline volunteered. “At least I can call on the guard if you run into more trouble than you can handle.”_

_“Merrill and Isabela, stay with her. I don’t like the idea of anybody being alone out here. Well, brother, shall we find the leader of these dwarves?”_

_“I’m with you, sister.”_

_“They’ve seen us,” Fenris spoke for the first time. He had a bad feeling about this place but he couldn’t stand by and let the Carta continue to attack Hawke. In the distance, they saw a couple of dwarves scurrying away, yelling about . . ._

_“Did they just say something about wanting my blood? That’s not too creepy,” Tambra grimaced._

_“I should have known there’d be something special about your blood, Hawke,” Fenris indulged in a rare display of humor._

_Carver scowled after the retreating dwarves, “Why does the Carta want our blood?”_

_Varric just shook his head. He didn’t like where this was going but knew neither Hawke would back away from a confrontation. He couldn’t blame them; damned ghoulish dwarves._

 

“It wasn’t just remote; if you didn’t know something was there you’d have no reason to stop. You could look around and see a lot of sand, sky, and apparent emptiness. I suppose the caravans were either taking a shortcut or simply got lost and then killed. The further in we went, the more ominous the place became. The dwarves trapped one thing generations ago and the Wardens created a prison for something else,” Anders wished Pounce was with them. He could use the comfort.

 

“Getting ahead of yourself magey,” Carver warned, but without the heat or the bitterness he used to put into the word. “We followed the dwarves. Straight into an ambush. One of their leaders said something about the children of Malcolm Hawke. Father never had dealings with the Carta that I knew of and Sis didn’t either. We dealt with those dwarves and chased down more. A rabbit warren is more straightforward. Another thing, their eyes, their eyes were all wrong. One weird thing, well, one of many, they acted like religious zealots and wanted to take us for their god or high priest or something.”

 

Anders took up the narrative, “We went down their rat hole. We picked up some clues, a name, Corypheus, and even some Warden gear, but nothing that answered our questions.”

 

“We accidentally let loose a demon,” Carver added helpfully.

 

“How do you ‘accidentally’ let a demon loose?” Nathaniel asked incredulously.

 

“I bet it was surprisingly easy,” Alistair muttered. Stroud repressed a sigh.

 

“It was more than a demon, a lot more. Maybe not a demon at all. Dwarves may not use magic or be accustomed to it, but they can kill demons. They called this _thing_ Malvernis, the Pestilent One, bringer of death, decay and pestilence, and they would have gleefully chopped it into tiny pieces and then burned the bits in a thousand different fires if they could. Commander, it ate _thaigs_. Malvernis may predate the First Blight, certainly the second one. Every generation Orzammar chooses a warrior to watch over its prison and make sure it doesn’t escape. The Carta probably killed the warrior, which enabled us to trip over the key. I mean that almost literally,” Anders added.

 

“Wish I could say Malvernis was the strangest or worst thing we encountered. We ended up in a Warden prison, thanks to following the Carta breadcrumbs,” the junior Warden shook his head. “All those little ambushes? Lures designed to make us follow them where they wanted us to go, which we did. I don’t think they planned on Malvernis, or even bothered to learn about it. If we died fighting that creature we would certainly have put a kink in their plans. I think they needed us alive a little bit longer for the Great One, their master. They needed the ‘blood of the Hawke’ and it had to be ‘pure’. I think that means fresh, but we didn’t leave anybody alive long enough to question them on the details. They wouldn’t have answered us anyway they were under some sort of compulsion and never would have surrendered.”

 

“I sensed the taint in them, Commander. Not like Grey Wardens or darkspawn, but . . .”

 

“You think they were ghouls, like Adria was,” Nathaniel spoke calmly but it was obvious the memory troubled him.

 

Alistair and Jannasilane both shook their heads doubtfully but Anders answered, “No, ghouls are generally as mindless as darkspawn. These people had a purpose and were intelligent enough to plan the ambushes and understand orders. In time, maybe they would be nothing but ghouls, I don’t know. Now, I can only tell you they had the taint in them.”

 

“This is bad, really bad. If somebody has found out how to infect people with the taint in order to control them,” the blond warrior drummed his fingers on the table and frowned. “Maybe we should ask Avernus . . .”

 

“Not someone, exactly,” Anders commented. “I don’t think we have to worry about this becoming common knowledge. You’ll understand. We followed the few dwarves that managed to flee down some steps and below the surface. That’s when we realized we were exactly where they wanted us to be. Wards, undetectable from above, blocked our retreat. Even if Justice were still around, we couldn’t get through. Somebody with serious magical or enchanting skills, maybe both, created that blockade. We weren’t in a building we were in a complex. A very old complex.”

 

“It was a prison,” Carver continued. “A very old prison created by the Grey Wardens to contain one particular prisoner. Since we couldn’t go back, we went down, hoping to find another way out. Someone summoned and then caged demons to strengthen the perimeter. Each level had a different demon trapped in a magical cell.”

 

Anders glanced at him briefly. Apparently, Carver wasn’t ready to talk about his father’s involvement. “And of course there were lots of darkspawn trapped with us. We were underground, after all.  Vicious brutes; I really hate the darkspawn. I also hate the Deep Roads, have I told you that? I thought I could hear voices, or some sort of humming.”

 

“By the time we reached the bottom, we could all hear something.”

 

“Reaching the bottom wasn’t easy. We met an old Warden, Larius; he was a former Commander of the Grey of the Free Marches.”

 

“Larius?” Stroud frowned, “He left for his calling over twenty years ago, shortly before I underwent the Joining. How is it possible he is still alive?”

 

Anders shuddered, “I don’t know, but seeing what might happen to us if we don’t die fast enough . . . ugh. We met him at the top, he told us about Corypheus, and that down was our only option. The wards aren’t designed to keep people out, just in. We killed the Carta leader before going through the wards and Tambra found a staff keyed to her father’s blood. That staff is the key, the key we needed to get out. First we were going to have to use it to break the seals on every level.”

 

“And defeat the pride demons held in place,” Carver added with a scowl. “Along with the darkspawn and other Carta crazies hanging around.”

 

“The Grey Wardens needed Malcolm Hawke to strengthen the seals. He was a strong mage, an honorable man, and not a Warden. Larius stressed how important that was, that a non-Warden mage reinforce the binding every few decades. He said Corypheus was more than just a darkspawn, that even though he slept he called out to all with the taint, darkspawn and Grey Wardens alike. He could influence them. Our only way out was to break the seals and kill Corypheus.”

 

“And what, pray tell, _is_ Corypheus? Why didn’t the Wardens just kill it?”

 

“We’re getting to that, Commander. Larius was jumpy, he didn’t like us even to whisper Corypheus’ name. He could hear Corypheus; when we broke a seal, he said Corypheus was beginning to waken and that we must hurry. Easy for him to say, he wasn’t there every time we had to fight darkspawn or spiders or deepstalkers,” Carver rolled his eyes.

 

“I hate spiders,” Jannasilane muttered at the same time Anders huffed, “I hate the Deep Roads.”

 

The mage shrugged, “I don’t think there is a simple answer for Corypheus. I want to make sure you understand the magnitude of what we found and the best way for me to do that is telling you about the place, setting up for the reveal, so to speak.”

 

“You always liked a little showmanship, my Anders,” Jannasilane grinned at her old friend.

 

“Of course, if it helps keep the attention of a beautiful woman such as you,” he retorted with a chuckle for Alistair’s elaborate eye roll.

 

“You do like to live dangerously, don’t you Anders,” Nathaniel quietly chuckled. “Three men in this room can drain your mana; one is married to the woman with whom you are flirting and one is the brother of the woman with whom you live.”

 

Anders shrugged again, “What can I say?”

 

“How about what happened?” Alistair suggested drily.

 

“Fine, fine. We reached the bottom and it was wet and squishy and smelled worse than the Blackmarsh. We made our way to the center and another tower where we met another Warden, Janeka. Larius want Corypheus dead; she wanted to free him and ally with him to end the Blights. She sent the Carta after the Hawkes. We agreed with Larius that she wasn’t thinking straight and we had to kill her and those with her before we could get to Corypheus.”

 

“That bastard threatened to kill Mother if Father didn’t perform the blood magic necessary to strengthen the seals!” Carver burst out angrily. “I know Grey Wardens have to make tough decisions, but murdering innocents?”

 

“Larius _said_ he wouldn’t have done it. We’ll never know because Malcolm Hawke did exactly what Larius wanted and years later we broke the last seal,” Anders frowned as he spoke.

 

“Commander,” Carver spoke with awe, “Corypheus said he was a High Priest of Dumat and that when he entered the Golden City it was black. He was one of _the_ magisters.”

 

“He was something; more than human, more than darkspawn and more powerful than any other mage I’ve encountered. If that’s what he was like after waking from a 1000-year slumber, I’m glad we didn’t have to fight him when he was at full strength. Killing him was tough enough.”

 

“Hmmm,” Alistair was thinking, “Are you sure it’s dead?”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        “Hof, dozens of stab wounds, tons of blood, and no movement of any kind tell me it’s dead, dead, dead,” Carver answered.

 

“And what of Larius?” Stroud asked.

 

Anders frowned slightly, “He said he was going back to inform the Wardens what happened. His return will certainly stir things up. We aren’t supposed to come back,” he smirked.

 

“At least he sounded more coherent without having to fight off Corypheus,” Carver added.

 

“Hmmm,” Alistair repeated. He drummed his fingers on the table, then pinched the bridge of his nose. The others waited for him to speak. In the silence, Carver sank into his own thoughts and memories; his father’s words played themselves over and over in his head. Finally, the Arl-Commander made a decision, “I want each of you to write up your own report of what happened. Include any odd or tiny thing you noticed, any ideas you had, no matter how ridiculous they seem now. I’ll go over them before writing a compiled report for Weisshaupt with copies for Commanders of the Grey Clarel and Kevain. Since Larius was Commander of the Free Marches, I want the two of you to go directly to Ansburg after you give me your written reports. Larius may need your confirmation. I would also like to know that he got there. Meanwhile, I’ll send Harami and Gabriel to Kirkwall with a message for Hawke. They’ll wait until you both arrive and travel back with Carver.”

 

“Could there be a connection to the Malvernis creature, my Ali?” Jannasilane finally ventured to ask. The coincidence of two ancient beings imprisoned at the same location bothered her. “Do you think they could have an influence on Kirkwall?”

 

Carver and Anders blinked at her in surprise; Anders answered, “As remote as the location was, it really isn’t that far if you draw a straight line on a map. I’m not an expert on demonology . . . so, maybe? If so, it’s probably going to be years, maybe generations, before Kirkwall will see a difference.”

 

“I’ll add it to my report, just in case,” Alistair decided. “It may not matter, but then again, if the dwarves or somebody managed to imprison another such being Weisshaupt may have the answer in their archives, which are pretty vast. I’ll send a request to the Shaper of Memories, though I doubt he’ll tell us anything. As long as somebody in a position to do the research starts thinking, I’ll be happy. We’re not equipped to follow up. Go rest, write your reports, blah, blah, blah,” he waved them off.

 

Carver quickly left. Anders watched him, “Um, before I go, Malcolm Hawke spoke.”

 

“Pardon?” Alistair lifted one eyebrow in query.

 

“He must have been a very skilled mage,” Anders answered. “He managed to leave some of his thoughts behind, though I doubt he imagined his children would hear him. Hearing his voice so many years after he died . . . it shook them both.”

 

“Poor Carver,” Jannasilane murmured as the mage left them. “It is like Blake ‘seeing’ his father on our way to the Urn.”

 

“Go to him, my love. Carver won’t talk to any of us but he will talk to you if he talks to anybody.” Alistair watched her go and then turned to his Constables to get their thoughts.

 

Carver was waiting for her in her garden, “I knew Anders would tell you, little Mother.” His voice broke when she hugged him, “Oh Maker, I used to be so jealous of the time he spent with my sisters. Nobody would have guessed he regretted his daughters' magic and considered it a curse. I understand so much more now and only wish I could talk to him.”

 

“Tell me about him,” she said softly. She sat down on her workbench and he sat on the ground at her feet. Eventually, he leaned his head against her legs and she brushed his hair back, just as she did Martelle’s when her daughter was upset.  Carver talked for hours and if sometimes a tear ran down his face, nobody could see it.


	122. Eamon Pays a Visit

Alistair was debating what he should tell Blake about Corypheus, or if he should say anything at all. They were in Denerim early for the Landsmeet. In the past, he glossed over details but never completely withheld information from His Majesty. The difference was that all those past events either occurred in, or directly affected, Ferelden. He decided Blake didn’t need the details; just the general nature of a possible threat and that somebody was handling it. Most Grey Wardens knew nothing of Corypheus; even Stroud didn’t really know anything during his time in the Free Marches, he just happened to hear the odd snippet. However, most Grey Wardens were not the leader of a nation. If some being could use the taint to influence Wardens then it might be treason not to say anything. _“I suppose I could say we came across something, and that Avernus confirmed it was possible. I don’t like the fact that Larius disappeared. My fellow Warden-Commander was surprised when Anders and Carver showed up. Larius was probably killed, maybe even by Wardens if they mistook him for a ghoul or darkspawn.”_

He rubbed his nose and looked up in relief when his Denerim Seneschal, former city guard Markel, knocked on his office door and poked his head in, “My lord, Arl Eamon is here to see you.”

“You know you don’t have to call me ‘my lord.’ It always makes me feel strange,” Alistair grumbled. In the years since hiring the former city guardsman they’d become comfortable with each other. In private, Markel usually just called him by name.

Officer Markel smirked, he admired Alistair and Jannasilane, and respected Alistair for not going ‘all lordly’ when he got the title, “Don’t they call you ‘my lord’ at Vigil’s Keep?”

“Actually, they usually just call me Commander or Arl-Commander.”

“Hmm, I like Arl-Commander, descriptive, respectful and no toffee-nosed airs about it. Arl-Commander, Arl Eamon is here to see you. I took the liberty of asking cook to prepare a mid-morning snack suitable for callers. Do you want it in here,” Markel looked doubtfully at the small office, “or the salon?”

“Salon? Oh, you mean what used to be the study, that sounds good,” Alistair resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jannasilane was expanding their house in Denerim. Almost as soon as they returned from their honeymoon, she was in contact with Soris and his mentor. Markel quickly left to retrieve the refreshments.

Alistair grasped the older man’s arm in a friendly gesture, “Arl Eamon, a pleasure to see you again. You know, you missed Janna and Marty; they’re at your place. Janna, Ginetta and Lady Isolde are planning some sort of party together.”

“Please Alistair, you can call me Eamon, you know,” Eamon reproved gently. “And yes, I know about the soiree. You’ll be amused to know that Teagan calls them the Arlessa Armada.

“Old habits and stuff,” Alistair grinned. “Join me in the study, I mean the salon, though it still looks like a study to me. We can have a snack. I like that Arlessa Armada bit.”

Eamon smiled back, “I know you’re busy, Alistair, but I wanted a private word.” His smile faded, “I have a favor to ask of you, you and your good lady. It is a large request I’m making, my boy.”

Alistair studied the Arl of Denerim, a slight frown forming on his brow, “We can talk here as well as anywhere. I’ll shut the door and nobody will interrupt us.” He suited action to word, “Do you want some tea or, I think we have some of that sherry you like, if you prefer?”

“Sherry, please,” Eamon turned the glass around in his hands before gulping it down, to the young warrior’s surprise. He sighed, “Alistair, I want you to know that yours and Jannasilane’s acceptance mean a lot to Isolde and me. These last few years she’s been happier than she was for a long time. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated her,” the old Arl smiled slightly when his former charge shifted uncomfortably, “but you got past the wrongs we did to you. You are a fine young man and a good leader to your Wardens and the people of Amaranthine. Your father, any man, would be proud to call you ‘son.’”

“Um, thank you,” Alistair stuttered, worried and confused.

“Alistair, Isolde is dying. I don’t know if you noticed she wasn’t her best at your wedding. Our daughter’s birth was difficult for her and she never fully recovered. The best healers, including your friend Wynne, have examined her. She might live another year or two, but most probably only another few months, even weeks.” Eamon closed his eyes, this was even harder than he had imagined.

“Eamon, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t even imagine,” Alistair spoke softly, compassion and sympathy in every word. He remembered what it was like when he thought his Janna was dead, “What can we do?”

“I love Janice Lynette very much and she will be devastated when Isolde passes. I want her to come and live with you when that time comes. I’m old, Alistair, and my duties won’t allow me to spend all my time with my daughter. I don’t want her to be alone with just servants, no matter how devoted they are. She’s very attached to Martelle and the rest of your family. Isolde agrees with me. I’ve spoken to Her Majesty; she will allow me time to organize everything I need to.”

Alistair was stunned, “W-what about Teagan and Ginetta?”

Eamon shook his head, “I love my brother and I’m very happy with his choice of bride, but I have to consider the real possibility that Janice will be a mage like Connor. I won’t inflict an untrained mage child on my brother again. You, on the other hand, have mages and people with templar training at Vigil’s Keep. You know what to look for and how to keep her safe while, well, you will be able to keep her safe. I don’t want to fail her as I failed Connor.”

“Connor loves you and Isolde very much,” Alistair said softly. “I can’t promise anything until I speak to Janna.”

“Fair enough, all I ask is that you consider the matter thoroughly and if possible give me an answer before you return to Amaranthine so I can begin to make any preparations. Thank you, Alistair. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave now. I have some things to do at the Palace before returning home.” He walked out of the room and Alistair noticed how much slower he was than even a few months ago. He wouldn’t put it past the wily old man to be putting on a slight show, but he had no doubts Isolde was as sick as he said.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That was several months ago. Now the Arl-Commander stared at the unopened letter on his desk and remembered. The Landsmeet went well, the soiree jointly hosted by the Arlessa Armada went well. He’d have to trust Eamon that that was important. _“I really wonder sometimes why some people can be so, so whatever they are. Bet if I wasn’t a bastard I wouldn’t have to worry about whether any perceived lack of social graces might prompt somebody to move against me,”_ he snorted. He wasn’t really concerned; he didn’t want to be an ambassador or any sort of political appointment. “And I’m just delaying the inevitable,” he muttered to the empty room. He knew what was in the letter. There was only one reason for Eamon to send a special courier. He scanned the contents and then left his office in order to tell his wife.

He knew exactly where to find her. He stood in the area of the old stables designated for her gardening and watched her feeding Duncan Jerad Theirin. She sat in the dappled shade of the small arbor his Wardens built for her to celebrate her last name day. Young DJ’s delivery was a lot less stressful than Martelle’s though Janna still cursed her husband in Orlesian. She was so tired and Alistair thought she looked more beautiful than ever. Love rooted him to the spot until he could once again catch his breath.

Before she could acknowledge his presence, he moved quickly to scoop her up without disturbing the baby too much and sat down with the two of them cuddled in his arms. “At times like this I am so glad I’m such a big guy. I feel sorry for any man who can’t cuddle his wife and child at the same time. How is our bottomless pit doing?” he smiled at DJ who was looking at him warily, as if wondering if his father was going to disrupt his feeding again. Alistair kissed his wife and nuzzled her hair, “With his appetite he’s probably going to be ten feet tall. You need to find a wet nurse, Jannalove. You’re going to wear yourself down to nothing if you keep nursing him every two hours.”

“I know,” she yawned. “It would not be so bad if he slowed down at night. I will be talking to some women next week, but you did not come out here to tell me this, my Ali.”

“No, doesn’t mean I can’t take advantage of the opportunity to hold you both. Is Martelle still at Felsi’s with Strake?” she nodded. “The garden’s looking good. What project are you working on now?”

Jannasilane sighed and rubbed her head against his chest, “You are stalling.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “I know. I have a letter from Eamon.” He started reading,

_“Alistair, Jannasilane,_

_My friends, Isolde died in her sleep last night. My poor wife is finally at peace but Janice Lynette and I miss her terribly. Your kindness and acceptance these last few years meant a great deal to Isolde and me. In truth, I think she would have passed sooner under the weight of disappointment and loneliness she bore. Thank you for giving me a few more years with my dear wife._

_I will be taking leave from court to be with my daughter during this difficult time; approximately three months as per Jannasilane’s suggestion.”_

“Ha, command is more like it,” Alistair interrupted himself.

Jannasilane sniffed, “He needs to make sure his daughter does not feel abandoned when she comes to live with us, my Ali. I have never been so afraid as when our daughters sneaked out of the estate to find something to make Janice’s mother feel better. Nobody explained to the poor child that her mother was sick; she heard just enough to be afraid her mother was leaving her forever.”

“I hear the owner of the store where you found them felt the same when you confronted him about his intentions,” he teased, though he shuddered to think of what could have happened to his beloved Martypants.

“Read on,” Jannasilane commanded imperiously.

“Yes ma-am,” drawled her husband. “Where was I . . . oh, here . . .”

_“. . . difficult time . . . Jannasilane’s suggestion. I took the additional step of permanently procuring a small suite of rooms at Madam Felsi’s inn. I can come and go as my schedule permits without having to impose on your hospitality. It will be our little family retreat._

_Per Isolde’s wishes, we will have only a private family ceremony for her funeral a week from the date of this letter. Personally, I have no desire to hear false declarations of sympathy from those who had no time for her when she was alive. I consider you family, my boy, you and young Jannasilane. Your presence would mean a great deal to me though I understand if Jannasilane will be unable to attend, since your son is only weeks old._

_Gratefully,_

_Eamon”_

Neither spoke for several minutes. Baby Duncan finished eating and Alistair watched as Jannasilane burped him then settled him in the large basket she used as a bassinet when she was in her garden. “No,” he said when she started to straighten her clothing.

She looked at him with wide eyes and recognized his desire. She felt her own, ever answering his. “We c-can’t,” she stammered.

“I know,” he acknowledged, “but I can give you pleasure. I _need_ to give you pleasure,” he gently grabbed the front of her tunic and pulled her closer. “Please my love let me do this for you,” he whispered in her ear and then gently bit the lobe. She shivered and whimpered consent. Deftly, he finished unfastening her tunic as he moved to her mouth, full lips parted in invitation. He helped her shrug out of the garment and pushed her breast band further down to her waist. “You are so beautiful,” he cupped her full breasts and leaned forward to barely kiss them, respecting how sensitive they were while she was nursing his son.

“Please, my Ali,” she held onto his shoulders for stability. As if he’d been waiting for his cue he traced patterns on her ankles with his fingers, stroking and caressing her skin as his hands moved upwards under her skirt. She gasped when he removed her smalls so he could knead her rear, skin on skin.

He dug his fingers into her wonderful curves, “If I lost you . . . I don’t know what I’d do. I only know I’d lose the best piece of me.”

Tears threatened to flow, “It is the same for me, my Ali. This is truth.” She squirmed when he slipped one hand between her legs, welcome fingers skillfully dancing around her nub until she was wet and panting. He teased her entrance and worked her harder until she flew apart in his arms and sagged against him, sighing softly. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, his head buried in her shoulder and breathed in her scent.

They went to Denerim the next day.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the dining hall Oghren grumbled something and looked around for some ale. His beard was starting to sprout a few gray hairs but his thirst and his fighting were fierce as ever. “Gonna spar with me today, Cherryplum?”

“After I finish with DJ I will meet you in the ring,” she replied. “I should warn you, I have been practicing.”

“Ha! Dummies ain’t the same thing and you know it,” Oghren’s eyes lit up at the challenge.

“My Ali is no dummy,” Jannasilane sniffed indignantly.

“He-ey,” the Arl-Commander complained.

Young Duncan had no idea what was going on but chortled merrily with the others and waved his plump arms in the air.

Eamon walked with Strake and Brownie to the Vigil. They found Alistair and the two girls watching the match between Jannasilane and Oghren. Martelle was holding her daddy’s hand and squeezing every time her mother fell. J-Lynn held Crumpet in her arms and buried her face in his fur. Alistair glanced down and frowned, he hoped seeing Janna fight didn’t bring back their nightmares. The first month Eamon’s daughter lived with them was a bit rocky but she was settling in now. He looked back at the ring and winced in sympathy when the dwarf landed a good blow on his wife’s side.

Oghren yelled at her, “Come on you bosomy nughumper. Either fight back or show some skin, I’m good either way,” he leered.

Eamon coughed discreetly to get Alistair’s attention, “I venture to guess he never says that to a darkspawn.” Janice Lynette was staring with her mouth open.

“You never know,” Alistair muttered good-naturedly.

When she heard her father Janice Lynette turned around and hurried to his side, beaming, “Father, you came back early. I’m glad.”

“So am I, my dear, so am I,” he leaned down to kiss her upturned face. “I found an artist in Denerim. He had some nice sketches of the city I thought you might like. If you don’t, I shall hang them in my rooms at Felsi’s.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing them myself,” Alistair smiled. “It’s good to see you Arl Eamon and you’re in luck. Connor and Finn are here. I think one reason Connor accompanies Finn on these excursions is to make sure he remembers to eat. How can anybody forget to eat? Speaking of eating, I’m getting hungry. Shall we go inside for a snack and some tea? Come on, Marty, I hear food calling.”

Martelle looked back at the ring, “But what about Mommy?”

“She’ll be fine. Sore, maybe, because she’s out of practice but I’ll make her feel better later. Any soldier knows it isn’t a good sparring session if you don’t feel any pain at all. Mommy knows how to find us.” He changed the subject, “Cook made cinnamon buns again, she keeps trying to match Orana’s. I’m certainly not complaining about that.”

Eamon smiled, remembering how quickly the elf girl’s buns were devoured, “Orana, Mistress Hawke’s servant? They were very good buns. How is the Champion of Kirkwall?” he asked politely. While they talked, he kept a covert eye on his daughter. He breathed a mental sigh of relief that she appeared to have settled in and was happier. Difficult as it was, he felt her being here was the right decision.

Oghren and Jannasilane joined them a surprising short time later. She looked cross and he sported a grin and an eye-patch. “Dare I ask?” Alistair stared. She ignored him and greeted Arl Eamon with a smile before sitting down.

“She blinded me with her bouncing bos- er, bodaciousness, heh-heh-heh,” Oghren corrected himself when he saw the children. Eamon raised his eyebrows and hid a smile; he did not wish to encourage the dwarf.

Jannasilane glared at the leering warrior. “That is not what happened,” she snapped. “Not exactly,” she admitted, blushing. She sighed and reached for a bun, “This is your fault, my Ali,” she accused. “The buckle I added to my chestpiece broke, flew in the air and struck Oghren in the eye. I shall have to wear a quilted jerkin until I can wear my armor again.”

“That’s your story, Cherryplum. I like mine better.”

“How was your trip, Arl Eamon,” she ignored Oghren.

“Blessedly uneventful,” he replied with a smile. He lowered his voice, “How is my daughter adjusting? I know the first few weeks were difficult, but she seems happier now.”

Under the table Jannasilane took hold of Alistair’s hand, “She has not had any nightmares since your last visit. I think the music box and knowing this is what her mother wanted as well helped. Every night, when we tuck her in, we wind it up for her. It soothes her. Sometimes I read sections of Lady Isolde’s letters, the parts where she describes her daughter’s favorite things so we could get her room ready. Her nanny-tutor Tina has also been a great help. Martelle and Strake join her for lessons and she joins them for dog training. Tina suggested it gave little Janice less time to brood.”

“You love being able to call somebody else little, don’t you,” Alistair lovingly teased. He added, “We gave her the same chores that Martelle has: cleaning her room and playroom every day, and straightening up the small room in the library they use for lessons. Nugflutter and Poorfella keep an eye on her when she wanders off by herself, to make sure she’s all right. We and Tina agreed that she should have the same rules, restrictions, responsibilities and routine as Martelle in order to feel more at home.”

“I knew this was the right decision but I still worried. Thank you, you have greatly relieved my mind. I miss her when I’m in Denerim, but I can stop second-guessing myself. I received a letter from her last week; I was tickled and proud,” Eamon smiled.

Jannasilane chuckled, “She positively jumped up and down in excitement when she got your reply. Martelle was quite jealous because she’s never received any letters. Tina suggested she practice so she could send a letter to Jean-Marc at Soldier’s Peak.”

“Ah, yes, her godfather,” recalled Eamon. None of them had any idea that Kirkwall would explode in a few months and the aftermath would change all of their lives.


	123. Justice Happened in Kirkwall

Alistair and Jannasilane woke up in the middle of the night when somebody knocked on their bedroom door. Jannasilane shrugged into a robe, "It's been months since J-Lyn's had any nightmares," she yawned. "Oh, Varel," she blinked in surprise.

"I'm sorry to disturb you and the Commander, my lady, but Anders just arrived. He and his friends are quite agitated and anxious to speak to you," the Seneschal explained quickly and quietly. "I told Anders to take them to the dining hall where they can get something to eat and drink." The kitchen staff learned a long time ago to keep some food available around the clock for hungry Wardens. None of them wanted to face cook's wrath again after the first time one of the Wardens raided her larder some years ago.

Alistair rubbed the sleep from his eyes, "I have a terrible feeling this means something bad happened in Kirkwall. Eamon said the Crown and Chantry both were concerned. I knew I shouldn't have said anything about how peaceful it's been."

"Yes, sir. Since Carver recently returned from his patrol, I took the liberty of waking him. He has been understandably anxious about his sister's welfare. I will let your Warden and guests know you will be joining them shortly," Varel left.

The Arl-Commander and his wife dressed in silence, neither wanting to voice their worries and upset the other. Alistair held his arm for Jannasilane, "Well, Jannalove, shall we go see what new disaster-I-mean-adventure waits for us?"

She smiled slightly, "Whatever it is, we shall face it together, my Ali. This is truth." As soon as she saw Orana, she sent the nearest guard to wake Harami. The poor girl was shaking like the proverbial leaf; Jannasilane didn't think she'd ever seen anybody who looked as lost and frightened. "I am most glad to see none of you are injured. Of course, with such a skilled healer with you I expected no less. Orana, would you mind assisting me with the tea? I am almost as bad a cook as my Ali is, wonderful as he is in most things, and am sure to burn the water. Do not roll your eyes at me, my husband," she added without turning around.

"Ha, and I thought you were kidding when you said you had eyes in the back of your head," Alistair teased. Then he sighed in mock resignation, "I suppose that means no more kissing other women."

Anders couldn't help grinning; it was so like the two of them to speak lightly when they knew disaster was coming. He could feel his love and Merrill relaxing; Orana stopped shaking while performing the small domestic task.

Harami hurried in before they finished making the tea, "Orana?"

"Oh, Harami," she breathed and leant into his embrace when he gently put his hands on her shoulders.

Alistair quirked an eyebrow at Janna, but she ignored him. "Harami, the poor girl is cold and tired but the small library is warm and comfortable; perhaps you should talk to her there," she suggested. The 'former' Dalish elf looked at her gratefully.

"You old softie," her husband whispered when she sat next to him. She elbowed him in the side. "I take that back," he snorted. He rolled his head and popped his shoulders, "Let me guess, all hell broke loose in Kirkwall. Between your reports and what we've heard from the Fereldan Circle and Arl Eamon we know things have not been going well in the City of Chains."

"Not going well? Not. Going. Well," Anders gasped and then laughed bitterly. "No. It has not been going well. Meredith finally went completely insane and Justice blew up the Chantry with Grand Cleric Elthina and dozens of others inside."

"Maker," Alistair breathed, shocked at the magnitude of events. Beside him, Jannasilane squeezed his hand, her eyes wide with concern.

"You tried to warn them, Anders," Tambra said quietly.

"For all the good it did." The mage closed his eyes and took a breath, "You know that, since I returned to Kirkwall after my separation, I've been trying to find out what Justice did when he blocked me out. It hasn't been easy since some of my, our, contacts were killed by Meredith's death squads."

"Death squads? Templars don't have death squads," Alistair frowned.

"Meredith did," answered Hawke. "Some people were interested in breaking Meredith's tyranny and supporting me as Viscount and told me things. We met one of her special groups in Lowtown. They were going to kill some poor woman merely because she helped her sister, a mage, who was half-starved and beaten. All she did was give the girl food and a bed for the night. 'Harboring' or 'succoring' a mage is a crime punishable only by death."

"Maker's breath, I knew she was extreme but this is insane," the former templar frowned.

Carver tightened his grip on Merrill's hand, "I'm glad you and Merrill got out safely, sister. You too, magey," he added.

"Finally I got enough bits and pieces to begin recreating his steps. Justice didn't approve of the Grand Cleric's inaction. Well, he was right about that," Anders said thoughtfully. "Elthina was a good woman, but she had too much faith in the willingness of Meredith and Orsino to come to some sort of agreement."

" _'The Chantry is not a domineering father with the whip always in hand. She is a gentle mother, who knows that her children learn best when allowed to learn themselves.' **[1]**_  She told me that once when I asked her why she didn't step in and actually do something," Tambra explained. "Mother liked her but certainly would have told her that sometimes children need a firm hand and loving discipline in order to find their way."

"Not always gentle, either," Carver grinned at his sister.

Anders looked at his Commander, "The Grand Cleric did the Chantry equivalent of crossing your fingers and hoping for the best. With no one to gainsay her, Meredith had free reign to impose further restrictions on the mages and prevent the nobles from selecting a Viscount. I can only guess that Justice saw no hope for compromise between templars and mages or no hope for the mages to receive proper justice, at least, not in Kirkwall. Whatever his reasoning, he decided to blow up the Chantry; I presume he meant for Elthina and anybody with her to die in the explosion. It was massive."

"I'm surprised it didn't tear a hole in the sky," Merrill entered the conversation for the first time. "I didn't know it was even possible to create such a thing. I think the spirits in the Beyond could touch it."

"Andraste's breath, mages and templars fought together when the Arishok went on his rampage. You'd think that would be an excellent opportunity for a discussion between the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter," the Champion scowled. "Instead, Meredith tightened her grip until it reached the point that the mages would have been crazy  _not_  to rebel."

"I'll never know if I could have found a way to dismantle Justice's special bomb. I had to research dozens of tomes just to discover what his actions meant and I still don't know how he managed to set it to go off when it did. After all, it's been more than a year since we separated, thank you again for that." Anders tilted his head, "He must have somehow tied it to something specific happening, some sort of magical signal, but I don't know what. I'm not really sure I want to know, if I'm going to be honest. It had to be something not likely."

"Why do you say that?" Alistair asked.

"Because I believe that, in his particular twisted view, he saw it as a last resort; it was something only to be used after all other possibilities were exhausted or ignored. Obviously, he meant to be there, but it doesn't make sense for it to happen randomly. Neither Justice nor Vengeance would be satisfied in that case. So I went to the Chantry to warn the Grand Cleric but-"

Tambra interrupted her lover, "but Orsino and Meredith were arguing again. Not only did she lock mages in their rooms and not allow them to leave the premises, she was determined to do a massive and comprehensive search for blood mages without any evidence to warrant such an intrusion. Who knows how many mages her templars would kill or make tranquil as a result? She regarded the Rite of Tranquility as merely a tool she had the right to use whenever she wanted, whether the mage passed their Harrowing or not. The First Enchanter requested my help and went to the Chantry to make Elthina really listen to him. She was the only person Meredith even pretended to respect. We were on the Chantry steps when Anders arrived." She carefully didn't tell her lover she thought it likely that his presence was part of the bomb's trigger. Anders never went near the Chantry, not since he, Justice really, asked her to distract the Grand Cleric. She very much feared that knowing his efforts to save people actually caused the blast would destroy him.

_"This stops now," Anders shouted to make himself heard over the ranting. "Your bickering is tearing the city apart because you refuse to work together. I came to warn the Grand Cleric she's in danger from . . . a former associate. I am convinced he planted explosives to destroy the Chantry and the Grand Cleric. Help me or get out of the way," he moved forward but Meredith's templars blocked him. The irritated and worried mage stamped his staff on the ground for emphasis, "Didn't you hear what I said? There's a"_

_Rumbling beneath their feet interrupted him and they all struggled to maintain their balance._

_B-BOOOOOMMMMmmmm._

_The thundering noise created a shockwave of air that flung them all backwards and down to the ground. They could only watch in horror as a giant column of sparkly pink smoke and debris reached for the Fade itself._

_"Elthina! N-o-o-o!" Sebastian cried out._

_Meredith was grim. Eyes on the gaping hole where the Chantry once stood, she spoke, "I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment against Kirkwall's Circle."_

_"You can't do that!" Orsino was aghast. "Punish the guilty but don't kill every mage in the Circle for a crime that wasn't ours." He turned to Anders and demanded, "Where is this friend of yours? Who is he?"_

_"Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when we have the culprit right here?" Sebastian never believed that Justice was gone and knew 'former associate' was just a code word. Everybody ignored him._

_"I don't think he was ever anybody's friend, least of all mine," Anders answered wearily. "He was never part of any Circle and detested the entire system as no better than slavery or jail. As for where he is . . . he's beyond the reach of us mortals."_

_Meredith sneered, "How convenient that this 'friend' of yours is dead and can't be brought to justice. The Grand Cleric killed by a mage . . . The people will demand answers for this outrage. Champion, you must stand with us."_

_Tambra briefly closed her eyes, thoughts of everything she worked so hard to build flashing before her eyes. She stared at the Knight-Commander and answered her clearly, "No, Meredith, you go too far. I will not let you destroy innocent lives because of another's crime."_

_"Then you share their fate," Meredith stalked off, followed by her templars._

_"Go ahead, kill me. This is all my fault," Anders sat on a crate as if his legs wouldn't support him. His bowed head exposed the back of his neck, waiting for the blade._

_"You heard him," Sebastian snarled at Hawke. "I'm warning you, Hawke. Destroy this abomination or so help me I will return to Starkhaven and return with an army against Kirkwall. This city will be razed to the ground."_

_The Champion snarled right back, "Don't order me as if I was one of your vassals, Sebastian. Anders tried to prevent this catastrophe; or are you conveniently ignoring the fact that Meredith blocked him from going inside? Go play with your toy soldiers, if any will follow you after years of waffling."_

"When you said that, his face looked like an angry plum. Not his best look, I think," Merrill interrupted.

"Sebastian?" Jannasilane tilted her head. She was still trying to process the fact that Justice blew up the Chantry.

Alistair remembered him with dislike, "He stared at your chest whenever he thought no one was looking. Shiny armor, thought a lot of himself, always wore a faint odor of disapproval."

"I stare at her chest too. It's a beautiful chest," Merrill shrugged and caused the men to cough. Jannasilane blinked and Tambra hid a smile.

"Yeah, but he was sly about it. As far as I'm concerned you can't preach piety while leering at other men's wives," Alistair snorted.

They listened carefully as Tambra and Anders, sometimes Merrill, described their fight through the city after a brief stop to warn Bodahn and Orana to pack up anything valuable they could carry and go to the Siren's Song. Isabela had gone ahead to tell her men to get her ship ready to sail. Fighting in the streets, Meredith's refusal to listen to reason even when Orsino offered to help her search, Orsino's ultimate despair and their final confrontation with the Knight-Commander.

"By the time we fought our way out of the Circle at least as many more people were dead as the victims of the initial explosion. Mages, templars, and people simply caught in the middle. We were tired and Meredith was standing in the Gallows waiting, dozens more of her templars behind her. She planned to kill us where we stood," Tambra was grim and Carver glared at the very idea of somebody murdering his sister.

"Cullen stopped her," the former blood mage piped up.

Anders nodded his head, "He thought they were only going to arrest the Champion." He held his love's hand, "I almost felt sorry for him when he said he'd defended Meredith, disdained the rumors, but she was going too far. She looked at him sorrowfully, said how sad it was that her own Knight-Captain fell prey to blood magic."

"Then she took out her sword, a giant, glowing red lyrium sword," Tambra added. "She looked at it the way you look at a lover."

"The idol? Didn't you say just keeping a sliver of it drove Bartrand mad? He sold it to Meredith?" Carver couldn't believe it.

"Carver, she was so scary," Merrill whispered. "Somehow she used it to fly up into the sky and back down, piercing the very stones."

"It gave her powers I've never seen, Commander. All those statues in the Gallows? She made them come alive and attack us. With that sword, she could control them as if they were golems. Normal golems I mean, not Shale golems," Anders couldn't help adding.

"Maker's breath, I remember those statues. They were awful, people twisted in despair, and other things," Alistair recalled.

Jannasilane was pale, "Maybe they used to be people and that's how she could call to them. Just like golems used to be living people."

"Oh, ick," Tambra grimaced. "That is a really, really terrible thought and I hope you're wrong."

"Obviously you won," Alistair noted. "What happened to Meredith?"

Tambra shook her head, "I don't think I won, not really. The sword . . . I swear it consumed her. She called to the Maker to help her and then let out this terrible, blood-curdling shriek."

"It was horrible," Merrill shuddered.

"She's still there in the Gallows," Anders looked sick. "She's fused to the stones . . . a horrible, terrible statue. One of the templars tried to touch it, her, it, but it was too hot. Cullen decided not to stop us from leaving, but I'm sure some of her inner circle followed us, at least as far as the docks."

Nobody said anything for a long time.

* * *

[1] Quote from Dragon Age II: Rise of the Champion


	124. Doomed Quest

“You okay Snowflake?” Varric asked the large warrior as Isabela steered them into Forlorn Cove.

Alistair didn’t reply for several moments. Finally, he sighed, “I’m tired, Varric, so fucking tired. When I step off this ship, I’m going to have to put on my Arl-Commander happy face and I don’t know if I can do it. I’m not the same person I was . . . what is it, four, no five months ago.”

“You’re wondering if you did the right thing about your father,” the shrewd dwarf noted. Alistair turned and looked at him without saying anything. “Look, Snowflake, I know this whole trip didn’t go like you expected or hoped. We may not have a lot in common but this . . . this is something I understand. You remember hearing about my greedy bastard of a brother, Bartrand. I had two choices: kill the backstabbing nug-licker and put him out of his misery and mine or let him live in a nice padded cell with rare moments of lucidity and understanding of what he did in his red lyrium-induced madness. I still don’t know which option was the better one. You had a choice between duty and mercy, with some personal business thrown in. You may never know if you were right, but you tried to do what was best. That puts you way ahead of the game as far as I’m concerned.” Varric scowled, “And if you ever repeat a word of this conversation to anyone you have to tell me about the bet that earned Magpie that bronze leather armor.”

The warrior laughed for the first time since he spoke to Zevran and held his hand out to the dwarf, “Thanks Varric. Just for that, I’ll tell you anyway.” He leaned down and whispered.

Varric’s jaw dropped and then he snorted, “You’re a lucky bastard, Snowflake, don’t ever doubt it.”

“I thank the Maker for my Janna every day,” Alistair fervently replied.

“Ready to go ashore, sweet thing?” ‘Admiral’ Isabela sauntered towards them.

Alistair rolled his eyes, “Aye aye, Admiral.” He picked up his pack, and then stopped. “Isabela, would you come by the Vigil before you leave? This trip turned out to be more than any of us bargained for and I want to do something for you. As long as I’m Arl Commander you have sole rights to dock your ship here . . . for legal activities of course,” he grinned. “And barring war or some other emergency, blah, blah, blah. I’ll draw up a letter for you in case somebody questions your right to be here. We’re not far from the Vigil, you know, and Janna will be glad to see you.”

Her eyes lit up, “Aren’t you sweet? I’d like to see that sexy wife of yours again.”

“Maybe we can get in a game of Wicked Grace with Hawke and Anders, I can already feel Blondie’s purse getting lighter,” Varric rubbed his hands together.

The pirate and the dwarf watched Alistair climb the path away from the cove until he was out of sight. “Do you think he did the right thing, Varric?”

“I don’t know, Rivaini, I don’t know. I don’t even know if there was a purely right decision, just not completely bad choices that would wear on that man either way. Gotta say I’m glad it wasn’t me.” When the dinghy returned, Varric followed Alistair to watch his back for the short distance home. Isabela planned to sail to the city to unload some goods she managed to acquire then return to ‘her’ cove and anchor the Siren’s Song, gleefully avoiding paying the harbor master.

Alistair wanted to be home but still he walked slowly, almost dragging his footsteps. He felt, _“. . . removed, like a part of me is still in the Fade, or in that obscene lab.”_ When he saw the walls of his home, he stopped and stared, trying to sort himself out before he went inside.

Jannasilane was worried, though she hid this from the children. Alistair’s quest to find the truth about his father was taking more time than he planned. He sent word that it was more complicated than expected so she wasn’t worried about the delay; she was worried about the danger he faced and the probable outcome. She remembered when Zevran came to visit them in Denerim, shortly before Duncan’s name day. The elf was uncharacteristically hesitant to talk.

_“Ah, Pocket Goddess, motherhood definitely agrees with you. You are more beautiful than the purest madonna, and more enticing than any seductress,” he bowed low and kissed her fingers before whirling her into an impromptu dance. “And speaking of motherhood, where are your little angels?”_

_Alistair watched in bemusement, “Zev, I know you like to flirt with my wife, and who can blame you, but this is excessive even for you. What’s wrong?”_

_“Perhaps,” the Antivan swirled them until they were sitting in Alistair’s lap, “I just wanted to cuddle.” He batted his eyelashes at the warrior. Even though she knew their friend wasn’t telling them something, Jannasilane had to snicker at Alistair’s reaction. Zevran huffed and quickly removed himself; leaving her alone in the warrior’s embrace. “Fine, fine, you are correct. I warn you, I am still not sure that telling you this is the right thing.” He frowned and bit his lip, something they never saw him do, “Alistair, information has come to me that your father did not drown. A . . . contact inside my former organization saw a document in their Archives indicating that the Crows kidnapped your father and sunk his vessel.”_

_Alistair’s jaw dropped and he stared at their guest for several minutes. “Wha- are you, are you sure?”_

_“I did not see this for myself, you understand, but his information has been generally reliable in the past.” Zevran held his hand in the air and tilted it back and forth, “I think it is 80% probable that such a document exists. Certainly, it would be a daring coup, though what is odd is they sent no word or ransom demand. If you kidnap a mark rather than kill, it is usually for ransom either in the form of gold or power. I know your relationship with your father is complex, at best, but the alluring and handsome ass on the throne suggested I tell you, that you would never forgive me if I did not.”_

_“What can I do?” the man who remembered the lonely boy he used to be muttered to himself as much as his wife and friend._

_“Do? I suggest you do nothing,” Zevran counseled, worried. “After all this time, over a decade, at the Crows’ mercy, I find it hard to believe that he could still be alive. One does not trifle with the Crows.”_

_“My Ali,” Jannasilane spoke softly, “I will support you whatever you decide, this is truth. But think very carefully about the danger you face; I fear Zevran is most likely correct and I do not want you to add your death to that of your father.” Alistair promised to think very carefully, but a month later decided he had to go. He left with Isabela and Varric a week after his son’s first name day._

She never saw his mission ending happily, but she shortly realized that not going, not knowing when he had the opportunity to discover the truth would hurt him and that hurt would never really heal. Southern Thedas was uneasy after Kirkwall; the Chantry even disbanded the College of Enchanters and forbade them to meet. However, even though tensions were higher between mages and templars, only a few mages actually tried to escape. Some of the templar hunters were more severe in their methods but so far, nothing upset the fragile calm recently established. It wouldn’t last forever, but it should last long enough.

_“I’ll miss you,” Alistair whispered and kissed her good-bye. “I have to do this, I have to_ know. _”_

_“I know, my Ali, and I shall miss you. I love you, always.”_

_“And I you, always.” He kissed their children, wiped their tears, and left with determined steps and a heavy heart._

Saykor interrupted her memories, “Lady J, the sentries tell me there is a man just standing and watching the Vigil. He’s not close enough for them to identify, just that he’s a large warrior and isn’t acting in a threatening manner. The guards are all on alert and a small group is assembling in order to confront him, what do you want to do?”

Jannasilane smiled, she knew in her heart it was her Ali, “I shall go meet this man. If he is a Grey Warden we will know before we reach him.”

The dwarf didn’t bother trying to dissuade her, “I’ll tell the men to wait for you.”

Jannasilane raced to their bedroom to change. She was determined to greet her overdue husband in something other than garden dirt. She threw on her bronze leather armor, remembering how much he liked seeing her in it, and armed herself just in case she was wrong about the man’s identity. She wasn’t. When they were close enough for her to sense him, she raised her hand, “Stop. It is my Ali.” She ran forward.

The warrior watched the group approach, his attention focused on the small woman in bronze leather. The closer she came the more _present_ he felt. When she started to run, he did as well, bracing himself when she jumped into his arms. She peppered kisses all over his face until he grabbed her hair to hold her still and kiss her deep, practically absorbing her into himself, “Maker, I missed you,” he said softly when they finally stopped to breathe. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, shuddering from the force of great gulps of air.

Jannasilane didn’t care that his fingers were bruising her skin. She never minded her Ali’s bruises. The haunted look in his eyes worried her, though. They held so much sorrow and pain she hurt for him. Jannasilane gently stroked his hair while he held her, murmuring phrases of love and support. When he was calmer, she put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him softly, “You can tell me later, my Ali, right now you need to be with your family and your family needs to be with you.”

“Yes,” he whispered fervently. He smiled slightly, thanking the Maker for blessing him with a woman who understood him so well. “I can’t think of anything better,” he began walking towards the grinning guards and the Vigil.

His wife laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, “You can put me down, you know.” She made no move to leave his embrace.

“I haven’t been able to hold you for months, I’m not going to let you go now,” he murmured and tightened his grip. “You know, I think we’ve had this conversation before.”

Meanwhile, Varric caught up to them, “Hello Magpie, you’re looking well. At least, your legs are,” he teased.

“You didn’t have to follow me, you know,” Alistair responded and shifted his arms to block the dwarf’s view.

“I got used to watching your back, Snowflake,” Varric hoisted Bianca over his shoulder and joined the Vigil’s men.

The moment Stroud realized the Commander was home he interrupted the children’s lessons so they could wait at the gates. As soon as Alistair got near, Martelle and Janice Lynette each grabbed one of Duncan’s hands and ran towards the warrior. “Da! Da!” the toddler shouted.

Alistair sucked in his breath and knelt. He let go of his wife and grabbed all three children in a giant bear hug. He stood and spun around in circles, making the little girls shriek and the toddler laugh and laugh. “The three of you have grown so much I can hardly hold you all,” he pretended to complain when he finally stopped spinning.

“Da,” Duncan chortled.

Just as her mother did earlier, Martelle rested her head on her father’s shoulder, “Are you back for good, Daddy?” she asked hesitantly.

Alistair kissed the top of her head while Duncan tried to grab his nose, “I can’t think of any reason to ever leave Fereldan again, my precious Martypants. Everything I want and care about is right here; I missed my family so-o-o-o much.” He blew a raspberry on DJ’s forehead, causing the toddler to giggle.

“I missed you, Uncle Alistair,” Janice said shyly.

The warrior smiled softly, “I missed you too, J-Lynn. After all, you’re part of the family.” She sighed happily and rested her head on his other shoulder.

Later, they finished tucking tired children into their beds and retired to their own bedroom. “Thank you, Jannalove,” he pulled her into his arms once again, “thank you for knowing I needed this time for just family. I’m sorry I was gone for so long. Everything just got stranger and stranger . . . How are you? Any, er, complications?” he asked, referring to the Beast. He knew it was selfish but he really hoped she wasn’t pregnant again with someone else’s child.

She flushed, “Um, not really, my Ali. I started drinking the tea made with Wynne’s recipe so that if the Beast came, at least I would probably not become with child. Just once, Blake and Zevran came to make sure all was well,” she shrugged her shoulders and looked at the floor. “They stayed in the room next to ours. It was the only time,” her voice trailed to a whisper.

“Good, if anybody knows how to hide a relationship, they do. I _will_ be cross if you wore that desire demon outfit Isabela gave us as a wedding present. I don’t want anybody else seeing you like that,” he said with a smirk.

She smiled and looked at him through her lashes, “That is just for you, my Ali. Do you wish me to put it on?”

His eyes blazed at the thought but he shook his head, “Not tonight. I just want to be with you as you are now, my love. I want to get to know you all over again slowly. Very, very slowly.”

“My name is Jannasi-” she started with a smirk and ended with a squeal when he picked her up and threw her on the bed.

“Quiet, minx,” he commanded and encircled her wrists above her head with one hand. He grabbed a fistful of her hair with his other and stroked his face with it, “You are so beautiful, even more than I remembered. I missed your hair on my pillow or veiling us from the world when you were above me; so fine, so alive and silky and you.” He nuzzled and nibbled her ears, reveling in her reaction, “You are so responsive to my touch and when you look at me as you are now,” he spoke, his lips a whisper above hers, “I feel like I am the only man in the world and capable of anything. Open for me, Jannalove.”

“Always, my Ali,” she murmured before his lips engulfed hers. Thus began their feast of the senses as they reacquainted their bodies, savoring the taste and scent of each other, arching into the other’s caresses, looks of love accompanying the music of endearments and gasps of arousal.

True to his word, Alistair didn’t hurry, no matter how tempting he found the woman in his arms. When they were both near the breaking point, he rolled onto his back and positioned her above him, “I want to watch you fall apart, Jannalove, every quiver of your breasts and every ripple of sensation as you go over. I want to see the desire darkening your eyes before they blaze brighter than the sun,” his voice, husky with need, washed over her and she lost herself in him. Alistair couldn’t control himself any longer and arched his back in a wordless yell as he emptied himself, holding onto her for all he was worth.

“Maric would have liked you,” he said when they finally recovered enough to breathe normally. “He told me I was a lucky man to build a life with the woman I loved. I always thought Rowan was his great love, but now I’m not so sure. “

“Does this mean you are ready to tell me what happened, my most handsome Ali?” Jannasilane propped herself on her elbows, ignoring his grunts, and looked into his eyes to see if the haunted expression was back.

He smiled slightly and ran his fingers through her hair, “It’s a long story and on the way I met Morrigan’s sister, partied with a Tevinter magister or two, and encountered the new Arishok.” He began with searching the Crow Archives and didn’t reach the Fade until two hours later. Her eyes got rounder and rounder but she never once interrupted him. He got up and put on loose cotton pants before filling a goblet with water and gulping it down. He poured himself another and silently asked if she wanted some. She shook her head and he returned to sit cross-legged on the bed. “The magister had my father hooked up to some horrible contraption so he could tap into the power of our supposed ‘dragon-enhanced’ blood. Varric tried to destroy it and we all ended up in the Fade. That was the only conversation I had with my father.” When he finished he stared into the now empty goblet, “I keep wondering if I did the right thing.”

She moved the goblet from his hands and put hers on either side of his face, “Look at me, my Ali,” she commanded softly. “If you were not such a good man your decision would not burden you like this. You have much compassion and a strong sense of duty; these are all truths. I do not know that it is wrong to choose mercy over duty; I do know that it feels right to me that your father is finally at peace. It hurts me to think of him being tortured all this time, though torture is too clean a word. Nor am I sure where duty even lies in your poor father’s situation. Thedas has moved past the time of Maric and Loghain, this you know.”

“He was right; I am a lucky, lucky man. Maker’s breath I’m glad to be home,” he buried his face in her hair and held her tightly against him. He lay her back down on the pillows, “Are you still drinking Wynne’s tea?”

She blinked at the change of subject, “No, not for a few weeks now. I don’t like to drink it when it is not needed.”

“Good,” he smiled wolfishly, “I was thinking it’s about time we tried for another baby.”

She stretched against him, “I think I would like that, this is truth.” She pulled at his waistband, “These will have to come off . . . why did you put them on?” Her curiosity was idle until she felt his face flush. “Alistair?”

“Umm, it s-seemed disrespectful to talk about my father without any clothes on,” he admitted sheepishly. She bit her lip but couldn’t stifle the snickers that escaped. The snickers turned into giggles, the giggles into laughter, the laughter into shrieks when he began to tickle her. “I’ll teach you to laugh at me, woman,” he mock growled. Soon their play became more sensual and moans replaced laughter. When he finally fell asleep, Alistair was able to let his encounter with Maric rest in peace.


	125. Snap!

Alistair patrolled the ramparts studying the area around the Vigil and reflecting on the two years since his father’s death. As far as his personal life was concerned, he couldn’t imagine being happier. The bond between him and his Janna was stronger than ever; all their children, four counting Eamon’s daughter Janice, were healthy, intelligent and lively . . . too lively, according to the cook. He liked to think Lane Maric was conceived his first night home, but was happy to admit there were plenty of other opportunities, thank the Maker. Eight year-old Janice Lynette wasn’t showing any overt signs of magic, but he took the precaution of asking some of his mages to be alert. While some children manifested magical talents as early as five years, he knew the next two were the most likely. Tambra Hawke volunteered to work with the girl, stating that her training under her father’s tutelage would help. He couldn’t argue with that, most mages never got one-on-one training.

Ferelden now had a respectable number of Grey Wardens and just as many Warden Cousins. Amaranthine’s soldiers under Garevel and Alec were the best-trained troops in Ferelden, possibly all of Thedas. The majority of his Banns were satisfied, _“They wouldn’t be members of the Bannorn if they were_ all _happy with me,”_ he snickered to himself. Elsewhere, tension was the rule. Blake was rarely in Ferelden these days. Zevran stayed with Anora to protect her and young Will while His Majesty traveled to distant lands to negotiate various treaties and gain more allies. He told Alistair in a private conversation he was also chasing leads for a way to reverse the effects of the Joining. He was very disturbed by the little Alistair told him about Corypheus. The militant faction in Orlais was lobbying Empress Celene to reattach Ferelden to Orlais’ hip. Her cousin Gaspard strove to oust her as she had outmaneuvered him years previously when she took the throne and he had the loyalty of the chevaliers. Civil war threatened to become a distinct probability in their near future.

Add to that the fracturing relationship between mages, templars and the Chantry. The Divine’s sympathy to the mages was causing many templars to gnash their teeth at her actions. Some felt marginalized or betrayed and went rogue, becoming excessively zealous in their search for ‘apostates.’ Alistair scowled into the distance; a group of rogue templars recently attacked one of his Warden patrols and Zeke was seriously injured. He knew Knight-Commander Greagoir wasn’t going to be happy when he received the Warden-Commander’s missive. _“It’s bad enough that, in order to reassure the queasy-I-mean-faithful that I understand the dangers of magic I have to pair every one of my mages with a templar-trained warrior when they go on patrol. I don’t like it, Anders definitely doesn’t like it, none of us does but, as Stroud pointed out, perception is important. Many people are sympathetic to mages but many more are leery after Kirkwall. If reorganizing our patrols is all it takes to reassure them that we still protect them, well, it’s a small enough step I’m willing to take for now.”_

“Zeke will recover, Commander,” Captain Garevel joined him. “His face will be scarred though Anders assures him the scars give him a dashing appearance and make him more attractive to the ladies.”

“Better warn the City Guard,” Alistair responded to his captain’s attempt to lighten his mood. “We don’t want any riots caused by swooning maidens.”

“Yes, swooning is bad,” Garevel deadpanned. He sighed, “Healers Brody and Anders were more concerned about his arm, but now feel he’ll make a full recovery, eventually. Have you spoken to Larson’s widow, sir? If not, I should accompany you. I knew her and her family before they married and a friend might help soften the blow.”

“No, she was away. I have people waiting to inform me the moment she arrives home. Damn, I hate this,” Alistair briefly closed his eyes in anticipation of the pain he would be inflicting on the poor woman.

“It shouldn’t be necessary,” Garevel angrily replied. “Those templars had no business attacking our patrols! Now one of my men is dead and one of your Wardens severely injured. What is your response, Commander? The men are rightfully angry and it will help if they know you have a plan.”

Alistair rubbed the bridge of his nose, and then crossed his arms before replying. “I’ve sent word to the Chantry in the City of Amaranthine asking the Revered Mother to keep their assigned templars within city limits for now. If they have evidence that something is wrong and requires investigation, they need to inform me so we can work together. This is partly for their protection. Templars have a legitimate purpose, and I don’t want those pursuing their duties with honesty and honor to suffer because of these zealots. I want the size of our squads increased, preferably to ten men units but definitely no less than eight. They’ll have to be out longer but I don’t see a way around that. We’ll need to use Janna; just, wait until I return and then try to assign her to patrols closer to the Vigil. I’ve sent word to our tavern-outposts to expect more Wardens and Cousins to supplement their ranks and not to assume any templars are friendly.”

“After I speak to Widow Larson,” his shoulders slumped and then straightened, “I will personally meet with the Revered Mother in Amaranthine before heading to Denerim. By the time I arrive, I’m sure Knight-Commander Greagoir will be there so we can meet with Grand Cleric Blythene. I have a very strong suspicion neither of them know anything about the group that attacked us. Maker, I hope one or both of them will have more information. I sent some of our best scouts to backtrack these ‘templars’ and then join me in Denerim. If they were willing to attack Grey Wardens and Amaranthine soldiers then I doubt they were more polite to any peasants in their path.”

“Andraste’s breath, this is a mess,” Garevel muttered. The politics of the situation forced upon them could become a maelstrom very easily. “I suppose you will have to inform the Crown, as well.”

“That’ll be fun,” Alistair looked positively glum at the prospect. “I’ll wait until after I meet with the Grand Cleric and the Knight-Commander. I find having as much information as possible is always best when speaking to Her Majesty.”

“What are your orders in the event we come across more Templars?”

“Effective immediately, they will be confronted and informed that without written authorization from either Knight-Commander Greagoir of Fereldan’s Circle or Grand Cleric Blythene of the Denerim Chantry, with their official seal, they need to leave Amaranthine until they get it. If they are on the main road, be polite but firm. You can escort them to the City of Amaranthine until they are safely boarded on a ship, make sure the ship sails,” Alistair added parenthetically. “Otherwise, escort them to the border so they can go to Denerim. If we encounter templars off the main road, be more forceful. Unless their leader is an idiot, they will at least listen to you. If they persist, restrain them, remove their weapons and escort them out of my arling. If they attack, engage and treat them as any other band of thugs or darkspawn. I will not let my people be hurt because somebody happens to wear the uniform of a templar.”

“For all our sakes, I hope this was an isolated incident,” Captain Garevel replied and took his leave.

“You and me both,” Alistair muttered to the empty air around him. He massaged his temples in an effort to stave off another headache.

When he reached Denerim, Greagoir only had more bad news, “There were problems at the White Spire during a meeting of the College of Enchanters and now many senior mages and templars are dead. The remaining mages fled to Andoral’s Reach and voted to free themselves from the Circles. Lord Seeker Lambert nullified the Nevarran Accord, removing all templars and Seekers from the Chantry, probably so they can pursue the mages and put them down. I’m sorry Alistair, I know you were fond of her but Wynne,” his breath caught for a scant second, “Wynne was one of the casualties.”

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair murmured and bowed his head for a moment.

“Maker guide us and Andraste preserve us,” Grand Cleric Blythene was just as saddened and horrified. “Such folly is only going to lead to chaos. Surely, the mages know they can’t withstand a templar army.”

“I’m sure many of the templars believe the same,” Alistair replied and exchanged a look of understanding with Greagoir. Neither of the men believed the mages were as helpless as the Grand Cleric believed, and any violence wasn’t likely to remain at Andoral’s Reach. “This may explain why templars attacked my people.”

The minute he was back at the Vigil, he called for Varel, Garevel, Jannasilane, and his senior Wardens to meet him in the conference room. “We need to be prepared,” he began and detailed everything he learned in Denerim. “We can’t assume all mages and all templars are headed towards Andoral’s Reach. We’ve already met one group of templars and need to be prepared for more. Thanks to the Lord Seeker, we assume any templars are hostile unless they demonstrate otherwise. As far as I’m concerned, if they don’t have a writ from the Crown then they can get the Fade out of Amaranthine. The same goes for any group of mages. I daresay some will think we’ll take them in because Grey Wardens have always used mages.” He proceeded to outline other changes in an effort to be proactive.

“Commander,” Anders didn’t always agree with Wynne but he respected her and regretted the loss of a healer and a woman who tried to help people. “We should make sure all the guards and Wardens know the Litany of Adralla. If blood mages try to seek sanctuary within the ranks of Grey Wardens they may try to influence you, us.”

“That is a fair point and one I am inclined to agree with,” Seneschal Varel nodded at the mage. “Did you not use this Litany of Adralla in the past? Perhaps our people should begin to use it regularly. If a blood mage seeks to influence any of us they will likely do so before making themselves visible.”

“Good idea. Those that don’t know it need to learn it. We can’t do much elsewhere, though I’ll pass your idea of the Litany to Zevran. He’ll know what to do with it. I bet one of Finn’s books has the exact wording. Where do we stand with the reinforcements for our Warden outposts?”

Stroud answered, “It is going slowly, Commander. As you are aware, many of our Wardens travel alone or in pairs. They could be in the Brecelian Forest, the Korcari Wilds, or even the Deep Roads. The most we have been able to do is send word to our ‘inn keepers’ to keep them in place until they can be reorganized. The larger groups you speak of may make it harder to track down any darkspawn.”

“I know,” Alistair rubbed his temples. Jannasilane frowned. He wasn’t the only one to feel the stress. “It can’t be helped. Their Warden senses won’t help them detect mages or templars, and templars are very well trained soldiers. If being able to protect themselves means some darkspawn escape, I’ll accept the trade-off. Ferelden’s been without Grey Wardens before and I don’t want that happening again. War between mages and templars, if it spills over, will be a bigger threat to the people we protect than a small group of darkspawn. We won’t ignore the creatures, but we may not be able to focus _all_ our attention on them for the moment. If there are any signs of more than the typical foray, I’ll reassess. Fortunately, the darkspawn are being quiet. ”

“You come close to involving Grey Wardens in political matters,” Stroud observed.

The Warden-Commander shrugged, “I prefer to think of it as making sure we are prepared to defend ourselves from _any_ threat and not allowing rogue elements to interfere with our duties. Policing the Arling is still the responsibility of Captain Garevel’s men, but since they help ensure the safety of our Wardens, we can say that any attack on them is an attack on any nearby Wardens and a deliberate interference in their duty. It’s a squishy argument,” Alistair acknowledged, “but it’s the best I can come up with at the moment. Our Wardens elsewhere in Ferelden will have to be more circumspect, and we are not going to be looking for trouble.”

“That would give those who resent the Grey Wardens holding such a prize as the Arling of Amaranthine ammunition against us. I do not envy you, my friend.”

“You have a headache, my Ali,” Jannasilane moved behind him and began to massage his forehead after the others left. “In fact, you have been getting them for some weeks.”

“Stressful times, my love.” He leaned his head back so he was resting on her bosom, “At least I have you to make me feel better.”

“And what of all our Wardens? I do not think you wish them to lay their heads on me as you are doing now,” she smiled a little when he eyed her reproachfully.

“Let them find their own . . . wait, what do you mean ‘all our Wardens?’”

All levity drained from her expression, “You are not the only one to have so many headaches, my Ali. In this meeting, at least three of you had headaches. Jean-Marc narrows his eyes as if the light is too bright, Anders pulls on his ponytail, Nathaniel clenches his jaw and Sigrun rotates her shoulders. After you started to suffer them, I became more aware of our Wardens. Seneschal Varel, our soldiers and the Not-nows do not have these headaches. Oghren tugs on his beard before taking a drink and he is the least headachy person I know.”

“That’s because he usually causes them,” Alistair retorted and resolved to consult Zevran. “Could it be poison?” he suggested doubtfully.

It was her turn to shrug, “Like the Woolsey did to our Rio? I do not know; this is truth. I think it unlikely.” She glanced away from him into the past and remembered grief. Alistair kissed the back of her hand and rubbed his cheek against it until she looked back at him and smiled.

The nightmares and singing began a few weeks later.


	126. It’s Not True, It Can’t be True

No poison, no illness as far as their healers could discern. Mhairi reported that some of the Wardens assigned to her area also complained about headaches. Nathaniel stayed at Soldier’s Peak, poring over old texts with Avernus. Now many of his Wardens said they heard humming or singing in their heads.  _“It shouldn’t be the Calling, not with the younger Wardens and not so many at one time,”_ he rubbed the back of his neck. He’d sent a message to Commander Clarel asking if she knew of anything that might infect Grey Wardens only but he still hadn’t heard back. He was debating whether to send a follow-up; it wasn’t like her to ignore a request from a fellow Commander.

The doors to his office opened simultaneously and Stroud and Jannasilane entered. “Go ahead, little girl,” the senior Warden bowed courteously, “what I have to say can wait.”

“I am not little,” she scowled automatically. She went to Alistair, “Tambra and I are ready to leave with the children, my Ali. Some of the guards went ahead to make sure we run into no trouble,” she placed her hand on the side of his face and rubbed her thumb over his cheek.

He turned her hand so he could kiss her palm, “I miss you already,” he admitted. “Be safe, my love. I will see you again in a few days.”

Before she left she stood in front of Stroud with her hands on her hips, “This is not your Calling, my Jean-Marc. You are not to leave before I return,” she ordered and flounced out of the room.

Both men watched her go. “I had a quiet word with former Knight-Captain Thornton. She will be safe with him, Commander,” Stroud said quietly.

Alistair snorted. “So did I,” he admitted and the two Wardens grinned at each other. “Furthermore, I think Oghren and Nathaniel both had ‘a quiet word’ with the man. Well, in Oghren’s case ‘quiet’ is relative. I’m sure the man blanched, though that was probably from the dwarf’s breath. I’m glad somebody so patient is staying with Hawke.”

“After hearing about the trouble in the Hinterlands I no longer have reservations about your agreement with Greagoir,” Stroud stroked his mustache.

When Alistair returned from Denerim, he informed his senior advisors that Connor, Kinnon and a templar or two were going to escort the younger apprentices to Amaranthine. The Knight-Commander was worried about their safety. They were too young to make the trip to Andoral’s Reach and they couldn’t stay in the Circle now that the mages officially disconnected themselves. If the Seekers came, they might kill them outright or make them Tranquil and Greagoir wanted to prevent that if he could. _“These are miserable times, Commander, and these children won’t suffer if I can help it. I’ve always believed mages need the Circles . . . perhaps I’ve been more severe following a conservative interpretation of our mandate than needed. My Knight-Captain is a good man and greatly more progressive than I am. He will do what is necessary but isn’t heartless and is very patient. I would have stepped down years ago but I knew he would never take my place, or rather be promoted to it. The Order needs more templars like him but under the recent and current Lord Seekers there is no place for compassion or anything but ruthlessly following their example.”_

_The aging Knight-Commander sighed, “I’ve made mistakes but I thought I was doing the Maker’s work. If I was wrong, I shall find out soon enough. Knight-Captain Thornton is prepared to leave the Order in order to protect the children. I trust him, Petra and Kinnon trust him, and the children are comfortable with him. I know I ask much of you and we rarely agree on anything but I don’t know of anybody else as able to understand the needs and difficulties of these young mages. I understand if you say no or if you can only offer a temporary solution.”_

“What else could I do?” the Arl Commander shook his head. “Their focus may be different but at their core Templars and Grey Wardens are about protecting people. I was happy that Tambra purchased Old Stark’s farm a few years ago. Nobody else wanted it and she could repurpose as she liked without anybody knowing what she was doing. She told me once she wanted a safe and private place to practice new spells.”

“And now she has made it available to these children. The Champion is a fine woman. I believe Zeke plans to assist Kinnon until his arm fully heals.  The young magelings will benefit from the training two mages who have never lived in the Circle can provide. However, I did not come here to discuss the children but the Grey Wardens.” He frowned slightly, “Have you heard from Warden-Commander Clarel? I am still not convinced that I do not experience the Calling.”

“Janna will be gone for a few days, which will allow me to fully sense what the rest of you do. I just find it too coincidental that even Wardens with less than a handful of years experience feel their Calling at the same time as more senior Wardens. It doesn’t make any sense.”Alistair drummed his fingers on his desk, “If I don’t hear from my Orlesian counterpart soon then maybe I should send somebody to talk to her, it’s possible she never got the message. I’ll decide after a few non-Janna-buffered days.”

“I should be the one to go,” Stroud volunteered. “Not only am I the oldest and most senior Warden, I was not recruited by you and will seem less biased. If you and the little girl are correct then the Wardens face a most dangerous foe.”

“Put like that I’m not sure which answer is best,” Alistair said sourly. “Anyway, I’ve decided to recall all our Wardens. The Cousins can maintain the tavern-posts and track any reports without going underground. Whatever we’re dealing with, they need to know and I prefer not to inform them via messages which might not be delivered.

Alistair didn’t sleep well. The first night without Jannasilane’s presence was bad but the second night he felt the full force of what his Wardens were experiencing. “Maker,” the breath shuddered out of him as he recalled the nightmare. He could still see the heads of Janna and his children bouncing from the hands of one darkspawn to another. He didn’t sleep the rest of that night and very little until his wife returned from helping Tambra settle the apprentices in their new home. The only good news he heard while she was gone was that the Divine arranged a Conclave between mages and templars at the Temple of the Urn of Sacred Ashes a few weeks hence. Perhaps by then both sides would be tired of fighting and willing to talk.

“Connor decided to stay rather than join his fellow mages. He is grateful Her Majesty offered sanctuary in Redcliffe for the mages but he cannot bear to go back,” Jannasilane informed Alistair when she returned. She frowned, “You do not look well, my Ali.”

“I’ll be fine now that my snuggle-bunny has returned,” he pulled her into his arms and playfully squeezed until she squealed. He laughed and loosened his hold, “I needed that. Well, you should be glad to know I don’t think any of us are experiencing the Calling.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, “You never believed it, not for a single one of us. Why is that?”

“It is truth that all the Wardens hearing it is too much coincidence. It is also truth none of you feel different.”

“What do you mean, little girl?” Stroud joined them. “Commander, our Wardens await you in the main hall, per your instructions.”

“First, tell us what you mean, Jannalove.”

She struggled to put her thoughts into words, “It is hard to explain. I sense you are both Wardens, this you know.” The two men nodded. “Each of your Wardenness has its own . . . flavor? scent? I am not sure what to call it. I do not have to see your faces to know my Ali from my Jean-Marc from Nathaniel from Sigrun . . . any Warden I have been around for some time I learn to recognize by their specific Wardenness. I have also felt the changes as you became more Wardeny. If you, Jean-Marc, were really at your Calling, I think I would sense the change in your Wardenness but you feel the same as before the headaches. This is truth. I do not feel a change in any of our other Wardens,” she shrugged.

“Huh,” Alistair stared at her. “Well, that just confirms what I suspected before you left. Let’s talk to our Wardens, shall we?”

The entire Fereldan Order of Grey Wardens and Cousins filled the main hall. When Alistair stepped onto the dais, the room became still as more than a hundred men and women stopped whispering and focused their attention on their Commander. Alistair scanned the room, making eye contact with several of his people. “I know some of you are concerned,” he began, “and you have a right to be. Before I explain I want any Warden who has not experienced more headaches, nightmares, singing or humming in their heads to step forward.” He waited several moments but nobody moved. He nodded his head decisively, “As I thought. First, let me assure you that regardless of what you think you are **_not_** experiencing your Calling.”

He gestured towards Stroud, “Warden-Constable Stroud has been a Grey Warden for more than two decades and Warden Nina less than two years. I find it fantastically odd that both would hear their Calling at the same time. You all know that you change after the Joining. As your Warden abilities mature and strengthen, you change a bit more. I’ve checked, and we are all the same as we were before the headaches started.”

One of the younger Wardens raised his hand, “Commander, sir, what else can it be?”

“A fair question and I wish I had an answer for you. I know what an Archdemon feels like when it’s pushing its way into your head. This is similar, I admit, but I’m convinced it’s a trick. This lacks a certain depth or intensity; I wish I could explain it better than that. Before we can look for the source, we need to defend ourselves against this attack. The last thing anybody needs is for the Grey Wardens to act as crazy as the mage/templar maniacs are doing.” He outlined his plans. The Cousins were going to be in charge of the tavern-posts and research any rumors about darkspawn. They wouldn’t go underground, but they could keep the surface free from the creatures until the Wardens were ready to resume their duties. Meanwhile, he would be helping his people strengthen their mental walls with different meditation techniques and experimenting with the Litany and mana cleanses to ease sleep. Finally, Avernus and Anders were going to research potions. If Woolsey could poison Riordan and mimic the symptoms of the Calling, then perhaps they could create a potion that would block the false Calling.

For the next few days, Alistair did almost nothing but help his Wardens strengthen their meditation techniques and memorize the Litany of Adralla. He built on Blake’s efforts in front of Weisshaupt’s gates. Instead of chanting the Litany at the same time, he had groups do so in rounds, like a song. He couldn’t say for sure, but it felt like it was working, like waves or ripples constantly spreading. _“At the very least, no blood mage is going to get close to us in order to control our minds. If it’s somebody like Corypheus . . . I don’t know. If they’re using the taint, rather than focusing on individuals . . . Could they be hundreds of miles away? That is a very scary thought. Our will might be our only defense.”_

Clarel’s long-awaited reply saved him from further brooding. He wasn’t reassured.

_“My friend,_

_I know of what you speak. This is a troubling time for all Grey Wardens. We are Called and must respond. Fortunately, we have a plan, one that I will divulge in person. It is extreme but the rewards will give Thedas peace from future Blights. I implore you as a friend and request of you as a senior officer that you bring all Wardens in your command with you to Montsimmard without delay._

_"In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice."_

_Your friend,_

_Clarel de Chanson, Commander of the Grey of Orlais”_

Alistair wanted to curse. He wanted to howl in frustration. Instead, rather than alarm his men, he went into his office and punched the wall. Then he cursed. “I wish there was a bandit or darkspawn so I could cheerfully bash its head into the ground,” he growled at the empty room. With a sigh, he sat down and tried to think of the best way to respond.

Stroud entered the room. He’d observed Alistair reading a letter and guessed it was from Orlais. “Not the response for which we hoped, I assume,” he said after closing the door. He scanned the missive and shook his head, “I can’t even begin to guess what sort of plan the Commander is preparing. I presume my journey to Montsimmard will have a slightly different purpose than anticipated."

“We know one thing,” Alistair said glumly, “Whatever this is; it is definitely not limited to Ferelden. You are going to have to try to dissuade her from whatever she, or somebody, has planned. Come on, I need to spar before my head explodes. Fighting helps me clear my mind.”

“Yes Commander, let me just get my heavier armor and helmet,” Stroud replied with a straight face.

“Scared?” the larger warrior teased.

“I prefer to arrive in Orlais in one piece.”

“Hah!”

A few days later Stroud was ready to leave with Alistair’s reply.

_“My favorite Commander in Montsimmard,_

_My Wardens and I are under attack. I know what you are thinking, but I remember Urthemiel and while there are similarities, I am convinced this is some vicious fraud for a sinister and unknown purpose. Warden-Constable Stroud will explain more fully as I hesitate to put words to paper. He can describe what I mean better than I can, anyway. My Wardens remain with me as we investigate and build our defenses against this enemy. Whatever or whoever it is. I beg you to hold off on what you’re doing._

_Your friend and comrade,_

_Alistair Therein, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden”_

They decided not to risk messenger birds so Stroud carefully tucked the message away. “Try not to get killed before you get there. I swear I think the templars and mages are trying to do as much damage as possible before the Conclave ends their fun,” Alistair shook his head.

“I will endeavor not to get killed before I see Commander Clarel,” Stroud responded with a slight smile.

“Do not even joke of such things, my Jean-Marc.” Jannasilane entered from the Commander’s private quarters and glared at him. Alistair beat a hasty retreat.

“I did not mean to upset you, little girl. It is dangerous, but Grey Wardens face danger every day. I promise to take what care I can,” he bowed.

She surprised him when she held his face between her hands and kissed him. “You are an especially dear friend and I worry, this is truth,” she admitted. “I am most unsettled by what is happening to my Wardens, this too is truth.” She didn’t tell him how afraid she really was. She tried to convince herself it was simply bad memories of the last time somebody went to Orlais.

“Ah, little girl, I will take every precaution. I have every reason to return to my friends and home,” he said quietly. _“And my family, even if I can only call them as such in the privacy of my mind,”_ he thought of Martelle and her mother. “Pray that Commander Clarel is not lost to reason. She is a good Commander with many good Wardens. Her only failing of which I’m aware is that she taught you to swear.”

Jannasilane laughed, just as he intended. “Maker guide and protect you, my Jean-Marc,” she hugged him tightly.

Stroud wrapped his arms around and kissed the top of her head, “Maker watch over us all,” he whispered before letting her go.


	127. Just What We Need

“I do not like this, my Ali,” Jannasilane paced in the Commander’s office while he completed some paperwork. “We still have not heard from our Jean-Marc.”

Alistair put down the report he was reading and studied his beautiful, compassionate, exciting, and now fretful wife. He sighed, “My love, Stroud is one of the most capable men I know. Even with all the stops I made it’s still going to take him at least twice as long as it did me to get to Montsimmard. I admit if we don’t hear soon I’m going to be concerned, but not yet. I didn’t have to dodge manic mages and testy templars every blessed step of the way. Relax, my vivacious vixen, you always worry more when you’re weaning one of the children.”

“You’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you? Are you thinking to compete with Varric, my wonderful warrior?” she accused with one eyebrow lifted in amusement. Then she blinked, “Wait, do I really?”

“With Martelle, you told Sigrun to put on a warmer coat and Garevel he was working his men too hard. When it was Duncan’s time you made Oghren drink a glass of milk. He volunteered for lots of patrols after that. I think you also offered to knit somebody a scarf but he or she convinced you it wasn’t necessary. You even told Carver scowling was bad for his digestion and he’d feel better if he smiled more.”

“No, I didn’t . . . really?” She groaned, “Why do you all put up with me?”

Without any regrets, Alistair gave up on paperwork and walked over to the love of his life, “Because every single one of us adores you. Because they all know that, even if it was a bit excessive, you did those things because you care about them.” He opened the door and they walked out.

She slanted her eyes up at him, “You do not say I did anything silly with you, my Ali. Do I not worry over you?”

He grinned, “You give me special attention and I don’t mind at all. It gives me more opportunity to savor your extra voluptuousness before you’re back to your normal perfection.”

“That’s a pretty way of saying I’m fat,” she snorted.

“No way,” he denied. “I’m saying that your wonderful curves are different, and I get to explore them as if for the first time. Extra icing on an already spectacular cinnamon bun and all too quickly gone, I can just eat you up. However, that will have to wait; right now, we have a date in the sparring ring. You can work out all your frustrations trying to take me down,” he drawled.

Jannasilane stuck her tongue out at him, “Gloating does not look attractive on you, my Ali.”

“It’s not gloating,” he grinned widely. “It’s remembering how much I like you under me,” he waggled his eyebrows in a playful leer.

She blushed and shook her finger at him, “You would not say that if anybody else was around to hear you.”

Their words were normal but they had an edge, an indication of the tension they were all feeling. The Litany coupled with some mana cleanses late at night filtered only some of the affects of their pseudo-Calling so the Wardens could sleep a little easier. The meditation exercises to build their mental walls helped more. However, squads of active men and women now temporarily housebound were feeling increasingly restless. Alistair didn’t blame them; they signed up to fight darkspawn not some sort of invasion into their own minds. He made a decision, “It’s time small groups of our Wardens tested their walls to make sure they can sense darkspawn without interference. I want Nathaniel to lead a small group to Kal Hirol. Even if there are no darkspawn they should still be able to pick up something in the areas the dwarves haven’t fixed yet.”

“Maybe Carver should take a group to the Wending Wood. Merrill hasn’t said anything, but it wouldn’t hurt to scout the area. I don’t think there are many refugees from Kirkwall left at Velanna’s old site.” Jannasilane was talking about Merrill’s determination to help the elves of Kirkwall after war broke out. She followed Alistair around like a kicked puppy until he finally said she could set up a camp in the Wending Woods, not too near the road. At first, there were dozens of elves, but gradually they moved back to what was left of their homes or to other cities. Merrill could at least be satisfied they were in better health and had some new skills and knowledge to take with them. The handful remaining had no plans to leave. They liked the peace of the woods, once they got used to the wildlife, and they were still close enough to the City of Amaranthine to look for employment or to trade. The workers at the silverite mine, and the quarry regularly stopped by, as did the Grey Wardens and soldiers from Vigil’s Keep.

“That should improve his disposition,” Alistair agreed. “Theirs’ must be the slowest courtship in the history of courtships.”

“We should ask Leliana,” his wife snickered. “A bard would surely know the answer.”

They were just stepping into the ring when the commotion began. Guards on the ramparts pointed and one ran to the Arl-Commander, “Commander, sir, emergency flares were just spotted in the direction of Hawke’s farm and Kal Hirol. And, um, sir, the sky over there is, it’s green.”

“I am coming, too,” Jannasilane forestalled Alistair. “If something is wrong near the farm, Tambra may need help with the children. They know me.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Alistair reluctantly agreed. “But no farther unless I say otherwise,” he warned.

Not sure what they might find, Alistair took a dozen of his Wardens as well as two squads of his soldiers with them. He knew any other patrols would already be on the way. He’d been Arl and Warden-Commander for over a decade; never had one of his patrols signaled for help. He didn’t need to tell his men to hurry, they felt the same sense of urgency and quickly settled into a fast pace. Alistair hoped Tambra and the others could manage for another three or four hours until help arrived. He didn’t need to look at Anders to know how the unusually silent mage was feeling; the man’s impatience was almost a physical force.

The closer they got, the sliver of green became better defined as a green ray of light. “My Ali,” Jannasilane rubbed her forehead, “that is from the Fade.”

“I’m very much afraid you are correct, Jannalove,” he responded. “And if that’s the Fade we have to expect demons and possibly blood mages.” He passed the word to his men.

When they reached the farm, Kinnon was trying to hitch panicked horses to the wagon loaded with the frightened apprentices. Some of the soldiers ran to help him and hold the horses still. “Commander, Lady Jannasilane, thank the Maker you came. One of your patrols is over the ridge with the Champion and Ser Thornton,” he pointed. “We had no warning. We were down in the practice room with the children when we heard an explosion. My first thought was the dwarves were blasting in Kal Hirol, they do sometimes to clear out rubble, but we realized it was too close. We left the children downstairs while we investigated. Commander,” he started to shake again, “the sky tore open to the Fade and demons are coming through! Mistress Hawke told me to get the children back to the Vigil while they held back the demons until it was safe to retreat but there are so many.”

“You did well, Senior Enchanter,” Alistair briefly clasped the other man on the shoulder, calming him. “Go to the Vigil. They’ll take care of you.”

“Commander, sir, if I might speak?” The soldier barely waited for permission, “I can drive the wagon while the Enchanter rides with the children, help keep them calm. I grew up around horses and if they get skittish, I can probably manage them a bit better. I’ll come back with a group of mages and more smiters to help deal with whatever weird stuff is going on.”

If the situation weren’t so serious, Alistair would have laughed at the relief washing over Kinnon’s face, “Excellent idea. Take Lady Jannasilane with you, please.” He ignored the glare she gave him.

“Well, ain’t that just what we needed, a sodding storm of demons coming down. I hate the friggin’ Fade. You humans shoulda come up with something better’n that,” Oghren grumbled to Jannasilane.

“I do not like it either, my Oghren, it makes my head ache. This is truth,” she grimaced.

Tambra was the first one to see them, “I’m glad you’re here. Kinnon and the children are safe?” When the Arl-Commander nodded she continued, “I’m not sure what scared him more, the number of demons or having to drive the wagon. The demons are mostly milling around near the tear. I have to say, it’s not like any tear I’ve seen or heard about. When your patrol arrived, we quickly realized there weren’t enough of us to go against that many demons so we formed a loose circle around them, ready to dispatch any that wander too close. I can’t answer for when they first arrived, but I’m fairly confident no demons evaded our network to roam freely after we encircled the area.”

“Good thinking, we didn’t encounter any on the way here.” While waiting for the smiters, Alistair got tired of saying ‘templar trained warriors’ and adopted the term some of his people used, he organized his men into small groups and distributed some around the perimeter Hawke formed. Eight groups of three, one more than the demons he saw, with a smiter or mage in each trio. Others he paired and set to walking a circle farther from the demons but still within help and eyesight of the stationary trios. They served a dual purpose; deal with any demons that might get past the first defenders and warn anybody else away from the danger. “Don’t attack until I give the signal,” he warned. “I count seven demons, have there been any others?” he looked at Tambra for answers.

“Not that I know of,” she shook her head thoughtfully. “Frankly, I’m surprised. As you can see, different types of demons can come through so I have to ask myself why no more than seven?”

“The seven deadly sins?” Anders quipped. He was back to his normal self now he knew Tambra was safe.

“The ray from the Fade ends in that spiky little cloud, it is difficult to see among the demons, but it is there,” Jannasilane spoke up from behind them.

“Janna,” Alistair gritted his teeth. His expression promised retribution later.

She ignored him and concentrated on the demons. “I am not sure, but it feels as if a piece of each demon is still in the spiky Fade cloud. The cloud feels . . .  I can only say it feels full. Perhaps this is why there are only seven. Do you have any ideas on why they haven’t moved farther from where they, um, landed?”

“You can feel the energy of the Fade?” Tambra had never heard of anyone experiencing the Fade quite that way, especially a non-mage.

“It is part of my sensitivity to magic, I think. I do not understand, how does this happen?”

Tambra shrugged her shoulders, to ease tension as much as indicating she didn’t know, “I don’t know. If you’re right, maybe they can’t wander further until that last bit of them is in our world. Father never taught us much demonology,” she smiled wryly. “I can’t even begin to imagine what sort of magic caused this.”

“So . . . definitely not the children,” Alistair said thoughtfully, thinking ahead to questions the banns and others would be asking him.

Anders spoke up, “You can confirm this with Professor Warren. He wasn’t the Circle’s best mage, as I recall, but he’s an extraordinary scholar and teacher. I don’t know whether this is intentional or it's an accidental byproduct of some ritual, but I think it has to be the result of powerful and complex magic and possibly more than one mage. There is absolutely no way one of the children, or even most of the mages I know, could accomplish this. I hate to admit it, but I might even be glad you have so many smiters. Maybe,” he added.

“Well, it’s time to send these things back where they came from. Each squad of three will concentrate on a different demon, the last squad can help were needed. _You,_ ” Alistair turned on his wife, “will stay out of the fighting unless you are directly attacked. I want you to observe and concentrate on the Fade energy thingy. With your sensitivity you might be able to warn us if more demons start to come through.” She frowned and nodded. Any edge she could give them she would.

Alistair’s plan seemed to work. By concentrating on different demons, the unwelcome visitors couldn’t coordinate their efforts in any fashion. Soon, “More are coming through!” Jannasilane could feel the pounding in her head to match the pulsing energy from the Fade as seven more demons came through.

_“Maker’s blasted navel,”_ Alistair thought. They were too close to the demons’ doorway. “Fall back!” he yelled to his men, “Fall back into your original positions!” Slowly they moved to the perimeter Tambra created earlier. As soon as they felled the last demon, they scrambled, hoping to be in place before the next round of demons. When they didn’t come right away, the Commander turned to Jannasilane, “Jannalove, you’re so pale.” He cupped her face in his hands.

She smiled wanly, “It is just an achy head, my Ali. I will feel better if you could do a mana cleanse.” Color quickly bloomed over her features and she sighed in relief. “I feel much better now, this is truth. Concentrating on Fade energy is very tiring. I do not think you will see more demons for a little while, my Ali. The energy is very low and not, it does not feel focused.”

He frowned, “But you don’t say there won’t be more demons.” She shrugged and shook her head. She couldn’t promise that. There were definitely going to be more demons. “Just what we need when the world is going insane: a never-ending supply ready to come through from the other side and a limited number of soldiers to fight them. This isn’t like last time, when we closed Fade tears before it was from inside the Fade.”

“I remember those in the Blackmarsh, but these feel different. I do not know where they need to be closed, but I think it is not the same method.”

“First things first,” Alistair signaled to call in one person from each three person team while gathering in the outer perimeter soldiers. While he and Jannasilane were speaking, the reinforcements from the Vigil arrived. “People, we have to assume that until we find a way to close this tear the demons are going to keep coming in waves. I know it’s too early to say it’s a pattern, but here’s what we know. One cluster of demons came down and were milling around the dense Fade cloud, the spiky energy ball. The minute we defeated the last of those demons, another group started to come through. It only took them a few moments to, I guess you can say they took shape; it wasn’t enough time for us to get back to our positions on the inner perimeter. The only reason we don’t have a third group yet is that the energy in the Fade cloud is too low. Don’t kid yourselves there will be more demons. We need to contain them and at the same time we need to conserve our energy.”

“Alistair, if you want to use my farm as a base, you are welcome to do so. I don’t think I feel comfortable staying here while demons are just over the hill,” Tambra said wryly.

“Thank you, Champion, that will be a tremendous boon. You, of course, are free to stay at the Vigil as long as you like,” the Commander smiled gratefully. “Since each group of demons only had seven that may be all that the tear can handle at one time. For the moment, let’s assume they will continue to appear in roughly the same locations as they did before. It’s a small area, there can’t be much deviation.” He drew a circle in the dirt using the point of his sword. “Here is the Fade cloud,” he marked the location with a smaller circle, “and here are about where the demons popped up.” He added x’s to his drawing. He drew two larger circles around the first one. “Pairs will continue to patrol the outmost perimeter. Watching for demons isn’t easy; they can be very sneaky and pop up behind you. However, I am hoping your biggest efforts will be in keeping others away. I don’t want any innocents caught in the middle if we can avoid it.”

Alistair looked around to make sure he had everybody’s attention. Never was he more grateful for the quality of the men and women under his dual command than he was just then. They were serious, focused, and ready to act on his word in spite of their fear, quite obvious in some of them. _“Of course, only a fool wouldn’t be afraid of demons on the loose,”_ he thought. “This inner perimeter of our three person teams,” he pointed, “we need to change our methods. When the next round appears, teams two through seven will each be responsible for a demon,” his sword connected the teams’ locations with a demon spawning point. “However, you are to watch only. Team one will also be watching all the demons. When one approaches the halfway point,” he drew another circle, a dotted line, “team one will signal the attack. If you don’t or can’t see team one and any demon actually reaches the halfway point, then you can engage. That should be enough distance that any smites won’t affect our mages. Bows, crossbows, smites and magic attacks only until they are near your perimeter. If you coordinate your attacks they might not even reach you but if they do then at least you will have time to get into position before the next round of demons.”

“Commander,” the soldier from team one spoke up, “what will we be doing?”

“You’re going to be overseeing the entire field and helping where needed or redirecting the efforts of the other teams. In addition, and this is very important, you need to carefully observe and record the Fade cloud and demons. When do they spawn; what types of demons; how long before they move away from the center; how much time before the next spawning and how much time it takes after the last demon from the current round is defeated; and any other details you can record. If there is a pattern, we need to find it. I am going to send Saykor with enough additional troops to coordinate three shifts. Watching can be mind numbing after a while, I don’t want any shift to last longer than seven hours. Mistress Hawke,” he turned to the Champion, “I know you’re tired and I’m grateful for everything you’ve done and the use of your farm. I am going to ask you to stay at the farm until Saykor arrives so you can help him set up a command post with as little disruption to your property as possible.”

“Gladly, Arl-Commander,” Tambra appreciated Alistair’s courtesy. “I will go get started right now, if one of your new arrivals will take my place.”

Alistair quickly directed the newcomers to change places with Tambra, Zeke, Connor, Thornton and the other templar, and the first patrol to respond to the green sky. Hawke and company went back to the farm to begin setting up. “I better go to the City of Amaranthine to talk to the templars and city guard. If any demons got away, they should know about it and be ready to work together. Of course, they may not be willing to listen to me after our last conversation,” he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do you want to go closer to the source of the ray from the Fade, my Ali? Perhaps we can see a way to close it,” Jannasilane suggested, looking up into the sky.

He blinked, “You want to get closer? Do you really think it will help?”

Jannasilane shrugged, “I do not know, but perhaps we can find out more.”

Alistair thought for a few minutes. So far, only Nathaniel and Stroud knew she could shift into a griffon. He had to decide if the chance to know more about the tear was worth revealing her secret. She believed it, but he wasn't so sure. He thought about the unending stream of demons coming their way and reluctantly agreed with her, _“If anybody comes from Weisshaupt I’ll just send them to the demons.”_

Anders and Oghren were on team one and the troops watched curiously as Janna move to an open area. Anders’ jaw dropped when the air shimmered around her and instead of the familiar Poppet, there was a magnificent griffon. Alistair stroked her head affectionately before hopping onto her back. Their people watched the two of them flying up into the sky, mouths agape.

“Heh heh heh,” Oghren chuckled. He was one of the first to recover, “I knew there was something hinky about that Morrigan story during the fight with the Archdemon. Didn’t know it was Cherryplum, no wonder the Archdemon didn’t like her. Turn around, Sparklefingers; we got a job to do. Ooh, wonder if I can get me a ride.”

“Didn’t you turn green when you got on the ship? I heard you were more seasick than Varric after a hangover,” Anders teased.

“Waves is unnatural and that surface dwarf is a crossbow wielding wimp,” Oghren answered crossly.

Anders snorted, “And riding in the air is normal? I wouldn’t mind giving it a try myself, though,” he added wistfully. Resigned to being land bound, the two focused on the Fade cloud.

Jannasilane flew higher and higher, until just before the air became too thin for Alistair to breathe. “This is interesting, my Ali, the higher we came the more separated the Fade energy. That opening is quite large, and the Fade energy is spiraling downward until it can come together.”

Alistair frowned, “I may be mistaken . . . I’ll have to talk to somebody . . . but I think that means whatever happened didn’t happen near Tambra’s farm. The tears in the Blackmarsh, they happened because that Orlesian baroness person weakened the veil with her blood magic stuff. It provided a focus for the Fade. At least we know why the demons aren’t constantly coming through. For now, anyway. Let’s go back down and see if Anders has any ideas.”


	128. Maker and Andraste Preserve Us

No good news waited for Alistair and Jannasilane at the Vigil. J-Lyn’s magical abilities had surfaced under the stress and messages arrived from Highever, Lothering, Gwaren and Denerim. While Jannasilane saw to J-Lyn and the other young mages, he went to his office to read the missives. Every single one said the same thing, the sky was torn and demons were coming through. He called a meeting of the acting Seneschal, Nathaniel, and Captain Garevel. “Ours isn’t the only tear in the Veil. I don’t know what happened, but it’s bigger than any of us can imagine. All of our people elsewhere report similar occurrences.”

“Maker’s breath, how do we combat an invasion of demons?” Garevel voiced what they were all thinking.

“One at a time,” Nathaniel said with uncharacteristic humor.

Alistair coughed to hide his amusement while acting Seneschal Candira looked shocked, _“Candira, right, I need to remember that,”_ he recalled. “Dark humor aside,” he cautioned them, “Nathaniel is not wrong. We can only do what we can, and that is to deal with the tears near us. I’ve drafted messages to Denerim and our tavern-posts. I’m also going to send a report to Her Majesty and Zevran. They are two of the smartest people I know and the best at knowing how to use the little bit of information we have. Our tavern-posts are going to have to work with local guards and militia. I’m going back to the City of Amaranthine to talk to the Revered Mother, the senior templar, and Constable Aidan. We need to be prepared for more rifts to appear and we can only do so much. With our Wardens under attack, they can’t help as much as I would like. I wonder .  . .” his eyes narrowed as a thought crossed his mind then he shook it off. “Anyway, if the templars who remained in Amaranthine are willing to ignore mages in order to chase demons it will help. I suppose we should be thankful not all templars left their posts. I’d rather be proactive but the most we can do until we know more is contain any outbreaks the best we can. People are going to be scared and I don’t blame them. I’ll listen to any ideas no matter how insane they might be. This whole situation is insane; I have a hunch normal strategies won’t be enough.”

Professor Warren and Jannasilane were waiting for him, “The apprentices are settled in our personal sparring chamber. The Professor and Kinnon both thought they would be more comfortable for tonight if they weren’t separated.”

The elderly Professor, a former Senior Enchanter at Fereldan’s Circle, spoke softly, “Blankets and pillows will be fine for the moment. The important thing is they are all alive. Being together will help reassure them of this fact. However, I am afraid there is another matter we must discuss.”

Alistair looked at Jannasilane, she smiled but it was one of acknowledgment not reassurance. He repressed a sigh, “Let’s go into my office.” He shut the door and sat down behind his desk before asking, “So, what’s the problem?”

“Now that we all know young Janice is indeed a mage we can introduce her to the other apprentices and adjust her class work accordingly. Indeed, your foresight helped alleviate what could have been a dangerous and frightening incident. One of your ‘smiters,’ such a quaint term, quickly performed an acceptable mana cleanse. Young Mistress Guerrin, like many budding mages, was not even aware of what she did until after the fact. It is best for all the children there are as few changes as possible. To that end, Kinnon and I will work out an appropriate schedule. With your permission, I would like your children and the magelings to attend academic classes together. It is a new world, Arl-Commander, and a frightening one. The more we can normalize their activities, the better for all,” the elf sat back and smiled pleasantly.

“The small library is no longer sufficient but in the older section of the Vigil there are some rooms of the correct size,” Jannasilane narrowed her eyes and visualized. “I think one of them might have been an old dining hall though now it mostly is used for storage. Since some of our Wardens and a number of our soldiers will be at the Hawke farm, Thornton’s charges can sleep in the guest rooms they had before. What we need to figure out is a place for the older apprentices to practice casting the more advanced spells. The rooms we spoke of will be fine for some spells, but when it is time to practice fire and lightning spells . . .”

“Absolutely not,” Alistair was firm. “I will not allow them to practice anywhere inside the Vigil, I have enough to deal with at the moment.”

Professor Warren blinked at the unusually sharp tone, “My apologies. I did not mean to suggest such a thing. I realize that much is happening and I’m afraid I let my concern for the children override any thoughts to your exhaustion. We can certainly address this later.” He started to rise but Alistair stopped him.

“No, now that we’ve started, let’s get this finished. You’re right that the children need as much normal as we can provide, even if normal is in short supply. I don’t know if any of the students will need more advanced training in potions but now that Voldrik Glavonak has left, you can use his lab. It’s about as safe as anything you could have had at the Circle. Any accidental explosions will be contained,” Alistair smiled wryly. Before his brother Dworkin built the lab, the eccentric dwarf’s experiments frequently made life more interesting. “That doesn’t help with spells. We don’t have time to build a magically neutral stone room like the Circle or the one Tambra built for herself. None of the unused rooms at the Vigil is far enough away in case a spell gets away from someone. So, we need distance and isolation from innocent bystanders, freedom from distractions . . .”

“I thought at first of the abandoned quarry south of here, plenty of room and no danger of fires but it is too far away. Well, with demons it is too far,” Jannasilane tilted her head.

“Yes, the demons do make things more difficult,” Professor Warren sighed. Alistair knew they were lucky to have such an excellent tutor but sometimes he had to hide that the man’s fussy mannerisms irritated or amused him, depending on his mood. When he and Jannasilane decided, shortly before Lane was born, that the girls were old enough for a tutor, Alistair approached Knight-Commander Greagoir. If J-Lyn proved to be a mage then a teacher experienced with young mages would be the ideal solution. Every respectable library in southern Thedas boasted copies of Senior Enchanter Warren’s books but unlike some scholars, the older elven mage enjoyed teaching. He was quite interested in seeing the relics young Finn studied and easily convinced to relocate to Amaranthine, as long as Greagoir and the First Enchanter agreed.

Alistair snapped his fingers, “The Forlorn Cove.”

Professor Warren blinked, “Yes, I believe that will do quite nicely. It is not too far for the older apprentices and as your pirate friend rarely anchors there it is suitably private,” he blushed a little. Isabela couldn’t resist teasing him the few times she visited. She always threatened to tuck him into her bosom.

While the apprentices, now twelve in number, got used to their new situation and the fact that their worst fears were running around Ferelden Alistair and Jannasilane were busier than ever. When Alistair was reorganizing and retraining their troops to deal with the new threats Jannasilane worked closely with Candira to make sure the Vigil was better supplied than usual to make up for the predictable trade inconsistencies. She suggested to Kinnon that it might be a good idea for the apprentices to concentrate on different types of healing potions to provide relief from different demon attacks. She also worked with Anders and Brody on training many of the servants to recognize different types of injuries and how to treat them until a healer could help and prayed they never had to use that knowledge. The Arl and Arlessa traversed the Arling, visiting Banns, farmers, and city leaders. They helped them establish different escape plans in case a tear opened near them. Some promised to send people to learn from their healers. Alistair also made regular trips to Hawke’s farm. No matter how busy they were, they carved small holes in their schedules in order to spend as much time with their children as possible.

Due to the mages and templars fighting, and now tears in the Veil disrupting everything, Arl Eamon’s arrival a few days later was the first they heard of the tragedy. Alistair was in the large conference room. A map of Ferelden was on one wall and a large map of Amaranthine was on the tabletop, painted in fine detail. Small bits of raggedy green cloth indicated the locations of the known tears. He was moving small colored blocks around, “With Cousins at our tavern-posts, Denerim and Soldier’s Peak we have to rely more heavily on our soldiers and Wardens.” A number of the black blocks were in small groups off to one side.

“So many of our men are stationed at the farm that we’re stretched a bit thin,” Captain Garevel frowned. “Surely by now everyone in the Arling knows to avoid this area and it’s not likely somebody will just stumble across it, it is pretty far from any common thoroughfare. We could just keep the trios in place, which would free up -”

“Sir, please wait! Commander,” Candira shouted as she hurried towards the conference room

“Alistair!” Arl Eamon leaned against the doorway, gasping for breath.

Jannasilane jumped up from her seat and hurried to his side. She helped him to a chair, “Please sit before you fall, my lord. Seneschal, please bring the sherry we keep in our small sitting room upstairs. And ask Warden Brody to join us,” she added. Never had she seen Eamon look so ill since he recovered from Jowan’s poisoning. He was pale, distraught and shaky.

“Take a minute,” Alistair was also worried.

Eamon waved away their concerns, “I’m sorry to burst in on you like this, Arl-Commander.” Now Alistair was really worried; something must be very wrong for Eamon to use his title rather than his name. “Rifts, such as the one you reported to Anora, are occurring all over Ferelden, Orlais, the Free Marches, and maybe beyond. They are just fallout from a much larger explosion. Alistair, Jannasilane,” he looked at them in sorrow, “Divine Justinia is dead, murdered.”

Except for Candira’s gasp, his listeners were stunned into silence. Alistair sat down heavily. He and Jannasilane reached for each other’s hand. Garevel and Candira froze in place. Eamon took a shaky sip of sherry and then turned the glass around in his hand, “A giant explosion killed her and almost everyone at the Peace Conclave. It destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes and tore a giant hole in the sky. They are calling it the Breach and it is spitting out demons as I speak. With the mage, templar, and Chantry leadership decimated . . . I don’t know.”

Nobody said anything for several minutes and the quiet became increasingly oppressive. Jannasilane stood and wandered the room as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. She stared blankly at the table map. Hesitantly, she picked up some of the green blocks near Tambra’s farm, “If we put up signs on the outer perimeter . . . Divine Justinia was murdered? She was so kind and was trying to make things better . . . who did it?” She looked at Eamon in bewilderment.

Alistair gently moved the blocks from her hand and pulled her onto his lap and into his arms. “Signs aren’t a bad idea. They’ll at least free up some of our men,” he whispered softly. He looked at Eamon again, “That’s a good question. You said almost everybody died. How many survivors and are there any suspects?”

“Just one, one of the Tal-Vashoth hired to keep the peace between the different factions. It sounds incredible, but they say she stepped or fell out of the Fade and that they saw the figure of a woman behind her,” Eamon shook his head. He was still finding it hard to accept, “She is both a survivor and a suspect.”

“How can we help?” Alistair mentally ran over the resources at his disposal.

“At the moment, continue what you are doing to keep your Arling safe. We don’t yet know if there is anyone left to take charge though Anora did send messengers. There aren’t many templars left in the Denerim Chantry . . . would you be willing to train some of our warriors if they don’t agree to teach them some basic skills? We may not be able to close these rifts but at least we can protect our people from demons.” Eamon asked quietly.

The Arl-Commander rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, I get that. Talk to them first and if they refuse, I’ll do what I can. I’ll send one of the smiter Cousins back with you to Denerim. He can help your soldiers get started on the meditation techniques they’ll need to learn. He’ll also be able to suss out the best candidates. The meditation will help even if they don’t undergo any further training. Talk to Grand-Cleric Blythene; if she’s willing to send some sort of notice to the other Chantries in Ferelden then any templars still on duty know they can follow suit with the locals. It will be better if she authorizes the training.”

Eamon smiled slightly, “I see you’ve learned a few things over the years. Her Majesty said she would send word as soon as she knows something; I’ll stay at Felsi’s until then and spend some time with Connor and Janice Lynette. If you’ll excuse me,” he started to rise but Alistair stopped him.

“Umm, about Janice,” he began, “she recently began manifesting magical abilities. She’s fine, just a little scared and uncertain. Luckily, Connor was here to talk to her. I was going to send a courier as soon as I knew the roads along the Pilgrim’s Path were safe from demons.”

The older man sighed, “Well, I won’t say I’m surprised. The possibility was one reason I asked you to keep her with you. Perhaps I’ll go talk to Connor first and ask him how best to broach the subject with my daughter. I know you have many things to do,” he nodded his head and left.

“Andraste preserve us, this is a disaster,” Garevel stared out the window.

“We survived the Blight and we will survive this,” Alistair stated forcefully. “Candira, please assemble our soldiers, Wardens, and servants in the courtyard so I can address them all at one time. We’re almost done here.” He quickly made some decisions, freeing up as many troops as he could before he was ready to leave the conference room. “Maker, I’m not looking forward to this.”

“Perhaps we can start a collection, my Ali? Some blankets, potions . . . an explosion that big must have caused a great deal of harm to any around Haven. Once we know who is in charge we will be ready to send these items. We can let the people of Amaranthine know we are doing this and take their offerings with us.”

“That’s a generous thought, my love, but a caravan of goods will be a target for bandits and others. I can only spare so many soldiers and at some point the amount of goods will outweigh the risk.”

Captain Garevel spoke up, “Commander, I have a suggestion . . . if you decide to do this, tell the people that for every wagon load of goods they must supply three able people as drivers and guards as well as the beasts to pull it. All must be armored and if not trained soldiers at least able to draw a bow or handle a sword with some competence. Whoever leads the caravan reserves the right to reject any wagon overloaded with goods or people who will be more hindrance than help in a fight. On the way, they can spar with our men for a short period each day. When they return, they will be better able to help defend their homes than when they left. Some will leap at the opportunity even in these difficult times just to get the training.”

Alistair mulled it over, “Increase protection at the same time we increase the size of the caravan; that could work. Good thinking, Captain, you can be in charge of organizing it.”

“Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down,” the Captain replied.

“I know. You’re a good man to have at my side,” Alistair told him. Jannasilane and Garevel discussed some of the details until they reached the courtyard where people crammed together waiting for news. The Arl-Commander looked around at his people, took a deep breath and let it out. He pitched his voice so they could all hear, “We know what caused the rifts at Hawke’s farm and elsewhere. As you know, the Peace Conclave designed to bring the Chantry, the mages, and the templars together and end the fighting was at Haven in the Temple of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Some currently unknown enemy caused an explosion so big that it ripped through the sky into the Fade and caused smaller tears resulting in the rifts. Divine Justinia V and the leadership of the three groups are all dead, along with dozens if not hundreds of others.”

The small murmurs and fidgets stopped. Nobody moved or spoke. Alistair would have sworn they didn’t even blink or breathe out of pure shock. Even the dwarves and Dalish who were skeptical of the Chantry were stunned. The mage and templar war affected everyone and non-sympathizers were as invested as any in a peaceful solution.

Alistair waited several minutes. “Until we know more the most we can do is continue to work together to keep Amaranthine safe. Captain Garevel will organize a relief effort to help those injured and dispossessed by this catastrophe. The chapel will stay open night and day for all who wish and for any donations. Before we return to our duties, I want to say a few words about the Divine. Janna and I met her on our honeymoon; she was a kind and wise woman. She was also not afraid to make changes that would better serve all the people of Thedas, even if those changes were not popular. I liked her. All of Thedas, not just the Chantry, will feel her loss for a long time, Maker bless her and keep her.”

“Andraste guide her,” Jannasilane said softly.

In Orlais, after finally reaching Montsimmard, Stroud was having his own difficulties trying to convince Clarel that she and her Wardens did not hear the Calling. She insisted that she had a plan and the cooperation of all the Wardens was vital; any impediment was treason to the Order. When Stroud refused to comply, she ordered her senior Wardens to imprison him. He made his escape when his captors had to deal with a sudden invasion of demons caused by the Breach. Regretfully, he left his fellow Grey Wardens to live or die while he began a life of running and hiding.


	129. Inquisition Reborn

“I hope this isn’t more bad news,” Alistair muttered to Jannasilane when a courier arrived from Haven. “We’ve had our quota.” The mood at the Vigil was subdued as they performed their duties. Even the children too young to understand what happened were either quieter or crankier.

“Most pessimistic of you, my Ali,” she replied with a hint of a smile. It was almost two weeks since Eamon arrived with the news about Divine Justinia.

When they reached her, she was talking or arguing with acting Seneschal Candira, “I have a missive for the Arl of Amaranthine. Please take me to him and tell me where I can place my proclamation.”

“Under whose authority do you come here with your ‘proclamation’?” Candira was trying to be reasonable.

“I’d like to know that as well,” the large warrior said with a genial smile and steady gaze.

For a moment, the courier stood tongue-tied with awe, _“The Hero of Ferelden, I can’t believe I’m standing next to the Warden who slew the Archdemon. Wait until I tell my Ernie that I met him_ and _the Herald of Andraste.”_ As soon as she thought of the Herald she recalled herself to her mission, “Arl and Warden-Commander, sir, the Inquisition is formed anew as authorized by the late Divine Justinia V in a writ to her Left and Right Hands. I’ve been tasked with putting up these notices and delivering this letter to you and the Arlessa.”

“She means you,” Alistair said in a teasing aside to his wife. “I’m glad to know some survived the explosion at Haven. I’d like to see the notice you want to put on my walls,” he smiled and held his hand out expectantly. The courier placed both letter and notice in his hand. He handed the letter to Jannasilane and read the proclamation. He smiled again, “Seneschal, I see no reason not to post this here in the courtyard, perhaps by the gate. You were correct to question the courier and I appreciate your diligence on our behalf. Our friend here no doubt has many places to go and can’t linger, but if she wishes please see she gets a good meal for her troubles. Safe travels to you, mistress,” he nodded his head cordially and left with Jannasilane to read their letter in private.

_“My dearest friends,_

_I need not tell you these are troubling times. Divine Justinia’s murder has shaken southern Thedas to its core and we are all still reeling from the shock. The Chantry, those who remain bicker and maneuver for position rather than help the people looking towards them for solace and guidance. To be fair, some of them at least merely want to return to a semblance of order and are floundering in a world gone mad. The Divine, in her wisdom, authorized the re-establishment of the Inquisition in the event the Peace Conclave was unsuccessful._

_To that end, I am asking for your help and support. The remnants of the Chantry hierarchy do not trust us. You will hear we are heretics because we support a false prophet, the Herald of Andraste. They refer to the lone survivor of the blast. She is a Tal-Vashoth mercenary who stepped out of the Fade with the assistance of a woman many believe was Andraste herself. Certainly, she did not survive without some sort of divine intervention. I believe this fervently. Nor did she survive unscathed. The Fade marked her hand and this mark is the source of the power she now has to seal the rifts._

_Even she cannot seal the main breach alone. We need to build up our strength and gain enough allies to help us. Alistair, you have done so much for Ferelden and it is unfair to ask you to do more but you of all people will understand. I beg you to join us and bring your Wardens. The people of Ferelden and Orlais respect the Hero of Ferelden and you have the ability to inspire them. We will need a leader who is not a part of the Chantry and I can’t think of a better candidate. In all honesty, many months ago, Seeker Pentaghast sought the Warden and the Champion to fill this role but her efforts to find them were unsuccessful._

_If you know where the Wardens of Orlais are currently, please ask them to come with you. We received no reply to our many requests. I am sure you remember the Chantry in Haven. We are using it as our headquarters. I pray we see you soon._

_Give my love to my most adorable goddaughter._

_Your friend,_

_Leliana”_

Other than a muttered, “Bet that puts the Chantry’s knickers in a twist,” neither spoke after they finished reading it. They just stared at the piece of paper lying on the Commander’s desk. Finally, Alistair poked at it with his finger, “So, a new Inquisition. Did you know the last one disbanded when the Nevarran Accord formed the Templar and Seeker orders? The Divine must have had serious doubts about the Conclave’s success; and now Leliana is in charge, or partly, at least . . . she helped us a lot during the Blight. She helped me understand what I did wrong when you left.”

Jannasilane agreed, “She’s a very good friend.”

“But I can’t do as she asks,” he looked at Janna. “I can’t leave Amaranthine and I can’t send my Wardens until I know they’re strong enough to stand against this attack.”

“ _Our_ Wardens,” Jannasilane corrected him softly. She went to his window and looked out, beyond the walls of the Vigil. She turned around, “I will go.”

“No!” he burst out. She came willingly when he pulled her into his arms, “I love you, Janna.” She stroked his cheek and hair but said nothing, just waited. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were full of sorrow, “You’re right, of course. With your unique abilities, you might be more useful than I am, and Leliana will believe you when you explain why I have to refuse. Maker’s sorrow, I will worry about you every minute you are gone. You are my heart, my soul, my courage.”

“I felt the same when you were gone,” she said softly.

“Oh, ouch,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

“No, do not regret it, my Ali,” she shook her head, “you needed to do exactly what you did. I would not be a proper partner if I prevented you from acting when you felt so strongly. That wound you would still carry. I am very much afraid, this is truth, but if I do nothing when there is even a small chance I can be useful then I will feel as if I failed you, our children, and myself.”

“You have never failed me,” he said sternly and then smiled ruefully, “you do make it hard to forbid you from leaving. Not that I think you would listen to me. You will not go alone, however, my love. Nathaniel and one of our smiters will go with you. Nate is the best scout we have and one of our most trusted and discreet friends, in case . . .” He picked her up and began carrying her upstairs, “Right now, I am going to show you how very much I love you. I am going to fill you with memories to keep you warm while you’re gone and add to the memories I’ll rely on to survive without you. We’ll work out the details of your departure later.”

He undressed her slowly, as if by doing so he could put off the time of her leaving. Their lovemaking was both tender and desperate as they sought to imprint their very essence upon the other. When she was lying in his arms afterward, she felt they already said goodbye. He interrupted her thoughts, “Should we tell the children before I talk to Nathaniel or after? I don’t want them hearing from the servants or one of our soldiers first.”

Jannasilane sighed, regretting the rush of reality, “Before, but not until after dinner, my Ali. Let us have this last bit of normal family time.”

“Agreed. If somebody could figure out how to mine it, they’d make a fortune. ‘Normal’ is rarer than gold or diamonds,” he brought her hand to his lips. “It’s a good thing we didn’t promise each other normal as part of our wedding vows.”

She chuckled, “We have had some normal over the years, though perhaps we need to adjust our definition. I know this, my Ali, I would not trade the last ten years with you and our family for all the normal in the world; this is truth. I love you and am yours, always.”

“And I you, always,” he replied huskily. “Maker, I am a lucky, lucky man.”

They decided to have a quiet family dinner in their private wing. After some debate, they asked Eamon and Janice to join them; partly this was for Janice’s benefit but mostly for Martelle’s. Eamon was shrewd enough to know something was up but followed their lead and kept his conversation limited to mundane topics and the children’s activities. Another time he would have found dinner with four young children a novelty.

Jannasilane tried not to show sadness or fear, but couldn’t stop her eyes from glistening with unshed tears as she memorized the happy scene around her. Lane was the youngest but he was also the most sensitive to others’ emotions and toddled over to her after dinner, “Mommy sad?”

She picked him up and hugged him, taking solace in the chubby arms wrapping around her neck, “I love you, my little Lane.” She looked at the other children who were staring with varying degrees of concern and held out her other arm, “I love you all so very, very much. I want you to remember this.” Alistair stood silently behind her, his hands resting comfortingly on her shoulders, while the girls and Duncan gathered around the woman who stole his heart so many years ago. She continued after giving each child a kiss, “Our friend, Leliana, has asked for our help. The demons near Mistress Hawke’s farm are because of a giant explosion that occurred near Haven, a small town in the Frostback Mountains. It caused rifts to open up all over Ferelden and Orlais, each one a doorway for demons. She wants your father to go help them and bring the Grey Wardens with him, but this he cannot do. Instead, I will leave tomorrow and go to her. I do not know how long I will be gone.”

“Mommy, I don’t want you to go,” Duncan pouted, tears threatening to spill past trembling lips.

She stroked the side of his face, “I do not want to go, my little Duncan, but I must. A mother’s duty is to protect her children, and if I can help Leliana’s Inquisition put an end to these demons threatening us all then I will. I cannot think of a better way to guard you than to make sure this danger does not come. Your father is a brave and noble warrior who is working with our Wardens to train them against this new threat and will continue to keep his family and the Arling safe.”

“Why do _you_ have to go?” Martelle asked, glaring at her mother unhappily.

Alistair squatted down so he was eye level with his children, “Your mother has certain abilities related to the Fade that nobody else has. Since the threat is Fade-based, she is better qualified than I am, better qualified than anybody I know, to help. If it turns out she can’t, she’ll come back right away. Even so, that still means she’ll be gone for several weeks. If you paid attention to Professor Warren you know the Frostbacks are on the other side of Ferelden and she’ll have to travel slowly.” He sighed dramatically, “You will have to make do with your poor old father.” That teased a reluctant smile from his daughter.

“Aren’t you scared?” Janice Lynette asked in a small voice. She still missed her mother and the idea that her foster mother was leaving frightened her.

“Yes, I am afraid. This is truth,” Jannasilane admitted. She looked at each child in turn, “Knowing that you are all here, safe and healthy, will give me strength and help me to be brave.” She and Alistair stayed with them a while longer, playing games and answering questions before tucking them into bed.

Martelle was the only one who refused to let her mother kiss her goodnight. “I hate you,” she scowled and turned away. She didn’t turn around in spite of Alistair’s rebukes.

Eamon waited for them in the hall, “I wanted to speak to you, so Janice is sleeping here tonight. I think she feels safer here than at Felsi’s, in any case. How is Martelle?”

“She is very angry with me,” Jannasilane replied unhappily.

“Only because she loves you and is scared something will happen,” Alistair tried to console her. “The two of you are very close.”

Eamon agreed, “This is the first time you’ve gone away, isn’t it? Not counting your honeymoon of course, but that was hardly going into danger, unless there is something you never told me. She’s more accustomed to her father leaving for long periods of time.”

“I hope that is all,” she smiled sadly. They followed Alistair into his office. He asked the guard to send Nate to join them and then shut the door.

The old Arl smiled, “I won’t keep you long. I assume you know what you are doing, young woman, and I won’t try to argue you out of it. That doesn’t mean I won’t worry; I’ve become quite fond of you over the years. It was a good day during a dark time when Alistair found you.”

Alistair brought her hand to his lips, “That it was, my lord that it was. I thank the Maker every day.”

“Ahem,” Eamon cleared his throat and pushed back memories of Isolde. “If you are going to Haven there are some things you should know. You’ll want to take the northern route closer to Highever. The Hinterlands near Redcliffe are a hornet’s nest . . .  farmers were killed and homes destroyed if the owners didn’t help the mage zealots or if the templar extremists simply suspected they might have helped the mages. Adding insult to injury, the mages kicked my brother and his family out of their own home. I’m grateful they made it to Denerim safely.”

“That’s odd and not like the Grand Enchanter Fiona I met a few years ago,” Alistair frowned.

“Teagan didn’t mention her at all,” Eamon answered. “No matter, I was going to inform you anyway but now it’s more relevant in light of your plans. I sincerely doubt you need me any further, so if you’ll excuse me I shall leave you to your meeting. Warden Howe,” he nodded politely to Nathaniel.

“Arl Eamon,” Nathaniel replied just as politely. He looked questioningly at Alistair, “Commander, you sent for me?”

“Tomorrow you’re going with Janna to Haven,” the Arl-Commander stated bluntly. “Leliana wants our help,” he proceeded to explain. After some discussion, they decided Saykor and two Cousins would go as well. “Blaine is a decent healer and she’s a darn good fighter. I don’t want you to leave without some sort of healer, my love. The roads are too dangerous. Cragen is as good with a crossbow as he is with a sword even if he isn’t as good a smiter as Saykor. Just as important, they are extremely discreet if, well, you know.”

She understood, “I will share a tent with our Wardens in any case, just as I shared with you and Blake during the Blight. Saykor and Nathaniel will have to be able to sleep.”

“Mouse?” Nate wasn’t sure he heard correctly.

Alistair snorted, “Didn’t we ever tell you? We found out by accident that my Janna is a natural buffer against the typical darkspawn dreams we Wardens have. It’s not fair to her, and wasn’t then, but I don’t know if we would have made it, just two junior Wardens, without her in our tent.”

She smiled and shook her head, “I am glad I helped but you would have been successful without me, of this I am sure.”

“Well, I understand your desire for discretion. But, now that you have revealed you are a griffon, why not just fly to Haven?”

“That is an idea,” Alistair replied slowly. “However, only those here saw her shift. For now I’d like as few as possible to know, for your sake,” he directed the last part to Janna. “I doubt Weisshaupt would send anybody, not with all the demons between here and there, but people are scared. They may assume you’re a dragon or some sort of new demon and take potshots at you. Why would they believe you’re a griffon when everybody knows they died out generations ago?” his question was purely rhetorical. He gazed at a small map of Ferelden on the wall, “There’s a good chance you’ll see other rifts on the way. I don’t want you involved in the fighting but you can give whatever local authorities are in charge the information and what we’ve learned about fighting them, little as it is. Also, let the people in any villages you pass know about the collection caravan. I want it to stop in Highever until you send word about where to go from there. Getting the goods over the mountains is doable, but by the time it gets to Fergus you should know from Leliana where best to send it.”

Jannasilane sighed, “You thought of many things, my Ali.”

“That’s why he’s the Commander. He’s a thinker,” Nate said without expression.

“Not what any of my templar trainers said,” Alistair snickered.

“I would not want to be flying only to have a rift open around me,” Jannasilane said thoughtfully. Both men grimaced in agreement.

“Go and prepare for your journey while I update your traveling companions. I want you to stop by Soldier’s Peak and speak to Avernus and Levi. I want to give the old so-and-so some information. I also want Levi to stockpile supplies in case we need to evacuate our Wardens from the Vigil.” Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of anything he might have forgotten.

“Do you think that is necessary, my Ali?” Jannasilane asked, startled.

“Probably not, but I want to be prepared. The banns can easily house our soldiers, they’ll probably be grateful for the extra protection, but our Wardens and the Cousins will need a place to go.  Candira and Garevel can discreetly make an evacuation plan in case the worst happens . . . unless a rift opens up inside the Vigil or very close we’ll all be safer inside than out. I think our people will be more comfortable knowing we have a plan for their safety.”

“You will be more comfortable as well,” Jannasilane noted shrewdly.

“You know me too well, Jannalove. I’ll see you later. We have a lot to do before you leave tomorrow,” he tried to smile.

The next morning came too soon. Jannasilane said goodbye to her children in the family quarters before going to the courtyard where the others waited. Martelle was still angry but did relent enough to give her mother a hug. Tambra Hawke was also waiting in the courtyard, “I’ll be traveling with you as far as Highever so I can check on some investments. Alistair also asked me to talk to Mhairi as long as I’m in the area.”

“Safety in numbers, right?” the warrior quietly remarked. He pulled Jannasilane to the side and cupped the side of her head, “I can’t very well tell you to stay safe but I can tell you to be careful. And don’t go looking for dragons without me,” he smiled slightly.

She put her hand over his, “I promise to be as careful as I can, my Ali. I want nothing more than to return to you and our family. And I will fight no dragons unless they plop down in front of me.” She snickered when he rolled his eyes. She stopped when he bent down to give her a kiss that sizzled her to her toes. “I’ll come back to you, always,” she whispered breathlessly.

“I’ll wait for you, always,” he responded and reluctantly let her go. He watched her rejoin the others and leave with a wave and a sad smile.

“Poppet’s tough,” Anders said quietly from behind him.

“Are you telling me you’re not worried about Tambra?” Alistair turned around with a raised eyebrow.

The mage laughed, “One thing I’ve come to accept about Hawke is that danger will find her if she steps out her door and she will sneer at it.” He sobered, “Of course I’m worried, but she’s not going into the heart of whatever caused the Fade to become separated by nothing more substantial than cheesecloth.”

Alistair didn’t want to think about it and changed the subject. He sighed, “Speaking of cheese, do you think there’s any more of that holey cheese Isabela brought back from Oswin?”


	130. Return to Haven

“Are we there yet? I’m tired of uphill, already,” the normally silent Cragen complained.

“Did you miss the part where Haven is in the Frostback _Mountains_?” Nathaniel smirked.

“He’s still annoyed that the pretty blonde in that last caravan we passed was more interested in Saykor,” Blaine teased.

The dwarf shrugged, “What can I say? She obviously appreciates the manly charms of the warrior caste. She was quite pretty, for a human, not scrawny at all like a lot of you. Present company not included, of course.”

“Of course,” Blaine snorted.

Cragen glared at them and Jannasilane smiled quietly to herself, _“I forgot how much I missed it, the banter and the friendly bickering while traveling like this. At the Vigil, I would not get to know Cragen and Blaine as I have, nor would I have heard my Nate joking so much.”_

“Why are you smiling like that, Mouse?”

Jannasilane shook her head and pointed up the mountain, “See those steps up there? We are near the end of our journey, when we finish climbing those steps we will be in Haven. At least it is not cold this time.” She only took a few steps before realizing her companions weren’t with her. She turned around to see them staring at her, “What?”

“My lady,” Cragen began and then just shook his head, “we’ve been walking in snow for days, Saykor is bundled up tighter than Oghren’s ale, I can see my words on the air in front of me; I don’t understand how you can say this isn’t cold. And you’re barefoot!”

“I like it,” Jannasilane shrugged. “I admit that last time I did want boots and a dozen warm capes. The dragon cult’s blood mages sent heavy icy wet winds against us. That I did not like at all.”

“I suppose this is pleasant in comparison,” Cragen grumped and began walking again.

Cullen liked being in the middle of all the sparring fighters. He could assess their strengths and weaknesses with half an eye while reviewing reports and making decisions. He wasn’t thrilled with all the visitors who came but he did like being able to see when new people arrived. Best of all, he didn’t have to listen to Roderick constantly whining or anybody telling him to be more diplomatic. He was happy to leave that to Josephine and Leliana. _“More people,”_ he thought when he saw the small group entering Haven. _“They don’t look like refugees, pilgrims or nobles, and they look like they can fight. Haven is crowded but I won’t turn away good fighters if they seem trustworthy.”_  He blinked when they got closer, _“I recognize that armor. I didn’t think I’d see her again,”_ he smiled and pushed the admin-board back into the hands of his startled assistant then quickly walked away to greet the newcomers.

“How do you know he’s a templar?” Blackwall asked Iron Bull. He normally kept to himself but he needed to see the blacksmith about strengthening his armor.

“It’s the way he trains his men to carry their shield, to better defend against magic or acid. We do the same,” the boisterous Qunari answered. “See that little dip and the angle? It – hmm, seems the new arrivals have distracted the Commander. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him leave to greet anybody.”

“Must know them,” Blackwall answered laconically.

“My bet is on the smaller female. The others look more like typical fighters.”

Leliana was looking over some information and calculating how it fit in with what little they knew so far. Finally, she stopped and addressed the shuffling feet behind her, “I hope you weren’t trying to sneak up on me. If so, you better practice,” she turned around with one eyebrow raised prettily.

“I know you wanted to know about anything unusual, but I don’t know if this is really what you meant,” the young man grimaced. “Anyway, Commander Cullen, he stopped examining the troops in order to greet some new visitors.”

“Really?” Leliana opened her blue eyes wide, “Do we know anything about them?”

“Not really. They look like fighters and the smaller woman has a lot of hair and no boots or shoes.”

The spymaster’s smile startled him almost as much as her answer, “I think I know exactly who it is. Thank you for telling me, you did the right thing,” and she was off.

Varric and Sera were sitting on the wall where they could see everybody in the village and the soldiers training outside the perimeter wall. “Okay Buttercup, in a fight, do you pick Seeker or Curly?” Varric asked.

“Duh, Cassandra. Cullen’s tough but she has more anger behind her. And Seekers are over templars, right? So, he might, like, hesitate to hurt a superior. She wouldn’t, not for half a second,” Sera rolled her eyes. “Who do you think is scarier, Cassandra or Leliana?”

Varric snorted, “Easy call. Cassandra is scary and tough, but Nightingale is the one you gotta watch out for. She’ll smile, slit your throat, and you won’t even notice you’re bleeding out until you’re dead at her feet. Hmmm, maybe I should write that down in case I want to use it in another book.”

“Hey, where is Cullen going? He is the stickiest stick in the mud I ever met, but there he goes not avoiding those people. Who are they?” Sera stared.

“I think I can answer that,” Leliana said from behind them, causing them both to jump. Leliana smirked, “You know some of them as well, Varric. I hope somebody tells Cassandra who they are before she says something about the Wardens. She’s been griping about them a lot recently.”

“Told you she was scarier,” Varric said smugly. “I think the day just got more interesting,” he hopped down and followed the bard. Sera did as well, curiosity screaming out her pores.

Former templar Cullen Rutherford was unaware of the tiny shockwaves he caused. He smiled broadly when he drew close to Jannasilane and company, “I thought I recognized that armor. Allow me to say that the woman wearing it today is even more stunning than the girl who wore it ten years ago,” he bowed slightly. Nathaniel and Saykor exchanged small grins; their Commander didn’t like people being too flirtatious with his love.

Jannasilane blushed and shook her head in disagreement before giving him a quick hug, “You have learned to be a smooth talker, Knight-Captain. I am most glad you survived Kirkwall.”

“Thank you. I highly disagree with the smooth talker bit, but I think I’ve learned a little since the Circle. One is that a woman shouldn’t confuse simple truth with blatant flattery. I thought you were beautiful then, but today you are even more so. However, I’m sure you didn’t come all the way to Haven for clumsy compliments. Oh, and I am no longer a templar, just a soldier helping the Inquisition,” he informed her.

“Bet the Commander doesn’t like him,” Cragen whispered quietly to Blaine. Her eyes crinkled in agreement.

“Ah, so that is why you feel more like my Ali,” Jannasilane said thoughtfully.

“High praise indeed,” Cullen couldn’t help chuckling. “Let me show you around. Um, space is rather tight but if you don’t mind staying outside the walls there is an empty cabin. It’s not in the best repair, and you might need to clean it up. The previous occupant was an alchemist and herbalist who died when the sky tore open. Most people would rather find a bit of space to pitch a tent but I have a feeling you won’t mind. Though, if you’re not staying for long . . . I should probably ask why you _are_ here. There’s a reason Josephine is our diplomat and ambassador.”

Saykor rubbed his hands together, “A roof? I vote for the roof.” Years after leaving Orzammar and he still preferred more than a bit of canvas between him and the sodding sky overhead.

“. . . That Order has too many secrets,” Cassandra was taking out her frustrations on the straw target and only half-noticed that Cullen left and returned. She didn’t register right away that he wasn’t alone. She hit the target again, “The Orlesian Warden-Commander doesn’t answer any of our messages; I think she is deliberately avoiding us.” Whack, whack, whack. “The Hero of Ferelden is being equally unhelpful,” she ignored Cullen’s warning cough behind her, “Warden business, Warden secrets . . . sometimes I think that Order has outlived its usefulness.” She shredded the target and turned around, wiping her brow. “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t realize-“

“There are many things you do not appear to realize,” Jannasilane snapped. She stepped forward and glared up at the warrior, angered further by having to look so far up at the blasted woman. “Have the darkspawn somehow disappeared from Thedas, both above and below the surface? The Grey Wardens would surely be pleased to know that they no longer have to make sacrifices for such grateful people. Most do not relish all the time spent in the Deep Roads hunting the evil creatures but they do not shirk their duty. You did not fight the Archdemon; perhaps you think any able-bodied soldier can defeat one. You would be wrong. Perhaps you think there won’t be another Blight . . . would you be surprised to know that even as they prepare and train the Wardens hope so as well?” She stamped her foot as Cassandra just stood there and stared down at her, not realizing the Seeker was surprised into silence.

“Cassandra this is, Jannasilane Cassandra is,” Cullen tried to intervene but he was completely unprepared with how to deal with two angry women.

Iron Bull, Blackwall, and Krem watched the meeting between the Seeker and the small woman with interest. “Well, Chief, looks like the small one has spirit. Even from here she looks mad enough to spit nails.”

“I like the feisty ones,” Iron Bull laughed. “And all that hair, even my hands would be full.”

Blackwall respected Cassandra a great deal, “She shouldn’t speak to the Seeker like that,” he frowned.

“Oh shit, Seeker’s gonna take her out before we get there,” Sera exclaimed. “See, her body’s getting all tight like it does when she’s annoyed.”

“Ha,” Varric just laughed. “You don’t know Magpie. Curly looks like he doesn’t know which one to grab.”

“I know which one I’d grab,” Sera muttered.

Leliana ignored them and moved faster. She didn’t run; that would have alarmed too many people. Fortunately, her training under Marjolaine allowed her to move quickly without apparent urgency. _“Oh no, she’s losing her temper and Cassandra is starting to get angry. I have to stop this before it goes too far. Janna wouldn’t be here without a good reason.”_ She quickly thought and then began running lightly, “I thought it was you,” she called out. Then she launched herself and wrapped her arms around Jannasilane, tumbling them both into the snow. “How is my goddaughter? And the boys and let us not forget that handsome husband of yours?” She laughed gaily and hugged her friend, snickering to herself when she saw Cullen’s look of relief.

“Leli,” Jannasilane hugged back. Contenting herself with one last glare at Cassandra, she stood and pulled Leliana to her feet. “I have much to tell you, this is truth.”

“Come, I know a place where we can talk without interruption,” Leliana began leading Jannasilane away from the others. She looked back at the Wardens and Cousins, “You can find a place to settle without my friend, yes?” They nodded and the friends walked away, chatting about family and fashion until they reached the broken bridge. “We won’t be interrupted and can’t be overheard here, what truly brings you to Haven, my friend?” Leliana’s blue eyes were alight with curiosity and worry.

Saykor was as relieved as Cullen, “You said a roof? Let’s go find that roof and then I could use a drink.”

“Well, then, I’ll wait for you in Haven’s one and only tavern. The ale is overpriced swill but there’s a lot of it. Good to see you again, Clam-man, Sobersides, don’t think I’ve met you two before, but you and Curly are welcome to join us. Maybe we can get in a game of Wicked Grace or Diamondback,” Varric mentally rubbed his hands together in glee. Nathaniel might not talk easily but Saykor, once he got some ale in him, was not quite as discreet. He ignored the Seeker, also knocked down in Leliana’s rush, on the ground.

“Very well, Sir Dwarf, we will meet you at the tavern you recommended and you can tell me why you are not in Kirkwall,” Nathaniel bowed slightly.

“Hey, if somebody else is buying I’m drinking,” Sera scrambled after Varric and began pestering him with questions.

Cragen lagged behind the others so he could be alone with Cassandra. He shook his head and looked down at her, drawling, “So incredibly beautiful, so amazingly stupid.” He offered his hand to her but she snatched hers away before he could finish talking. He shrugged and smiled while she gracelessly got to her feet.

“I am neither,” Cassandra glared haughtily at the young man. “And I am not one for idle flattery or shallow compliments. Who are you and who was that woman with the hair and the angry eyes?”

“Blind as well, or excessively modest, how often do you look in a mirror? Maybe you aren’t stupid, maybe we just came at a bad time. _I_ know you were venting, and didn’t know anybody was listening. When she calms down Lady J will as well, all these Fade rifts make her edgy. My name is Cragen, by the way,” he smiled charmingly. His fellows called him Craggy Cragen, inspired by his features and disposition.

“Fine, Cragen is your name. Who are you?” the Seeker couldn’t believe the man was still flirting with her. He was easily ten years her junior.

Cragen sighed, “We’re from Vigil’s Keep in Amaranthine. Two of my companions are ‘useless’ Wardens, Blaine and I are Cousins to the ‘unnecessary’ Order and Lady J,” he shook his head. “Lady J is very protective of her Wardens and your little rant insulted her father, her husband, and many of her friends. Duncan, the Warden-Commander at the beginning of the Blight, was her father. Her husband, well, you did mention him, the Hero of Ferelden . . .” his voice trailed off and he shrugged his shoulders.

Several things clicked in Cassandra’s mind. She groaned, “She is the girl who fought with the Wardens ten years ago. Leliana told me about her . . . I couldn’t have had worse timing. That doesn’t mean I should be attacked for my opinions,” she added severely.

“You and she can work that out between you,” Cragen sidestepped an argument he couldn’t win. “So, you seeing anybody?” Cassandra gawked at him.

“It’s worse than I realized,” Cullen frowned. “Still, it’s a roof and Haven is overcrowded. Be careful, I don’t know what brews the old man was working on. Some might be explosive.”

Nate smiled, “Sounds like he would have gotten along with a dwarf who used to work at the Vigil. He specialized in explosions. Thank you, I don’t really care about the mess, after a few weeks on the road this seems like paradise.”

“I need to return to my duties. Good luck,” Cullen nodded briefly and left.

“Let’s at least clear out a sleeping area before we meet Varric for that drink,” Blaine suggested. “I don’t want to stumble into something that will blow up in my face.”

“I’ll clean out the fireplace and start a fire. We can bank it before we leave,” Saykor volunteered. As they traveled, the others discovered he had the most skill in starting a fire with very little. The three of them got to work. When Cragen rejoined them, he began helping. Soon the cabin was in reasonable condition.

Leliana was mulling over everything Jannasilane told her. “It’s unfortunate that Alistair can’t be here with his Wardens, but I understand. It is no coincidence. We just don’t know the connection, yet. Josephine will let us use one of her maps to mark places where the Veil is likely thinnest. Your observations will help the Herald of Andraste when she returns. It makes sense that more and larger rifts occur in those areas. I should have thought of that.”

Jannasilane nudged her friend playfully, “Not even you, my Leli, can think of everything.” She rubbed her forehead and the bard frowned.

“Janna, maybe you shouldn’t be here, not if the Fade bothers you so much.”

“My sensitivity is precisely why I am here,” Jannasilane smiled tiredly. “I just need a good mana cleanse to feel better. Saykor and Cragen are better smiters than cleansers and this close to the main breach,” she shrugged. “I’ll ask Cullen when we return.”

“He’s not a templar anymore,” Leliana warned.

“So he never uses any of the abilities he learned?” the smaller woman was surprised. “I shall have a word with him,” she decided.

“There is somebody else you should speak to,” the redhead suggested. “One Grey Warden is here, Blackwall. He hasn’t said anything but if he speaks to anybody about an attack, it will be you. You should warn him what. I know you didn’t tell me everything you know or suspect, Janna. I respect that. I also trust you enough to know if you learn anything which might affect the Inquisition you will tell me.”

She hesitated and then decided to broach another topic, “Your first meeting didn’t go well, but Cassandra is a good person. She left the Seekers because she doesn’t think they are doing the right thing for Thedas. The Wardens frustrate her with their secrets because she hates secrecy in any form even when she acknowledges it is sometimes necessary. She was a good Right Hand to the Divine, but Justinia left all tasks requiring diplomacy and discretion to me. Sometimes she becomes a bit too focused on what she sees is necessary, which currently is sealing the Breach and finding out who murdered Divine Justinia.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Leli,” Jannasilane said softly. “I shall speak to your Seeker. Perhaps I am more on edge than I realized to have lost my temper so easily. Her words are not new ones, especially when there is no Blight.” She stood, “It is good to see you my friend, even under these circumstances.” They hugged and walked back arm-in-arm until parting at the gates.

Cassandra was attacking a straw dummy, though not with the same intensity as before. Jannasilane nodded politely and looked for Cullen. She found him and waited for him to finish talking to one of his soldiers before approaching, “Cullen,” she said softly.

Cullen smiled, “Janna is there anything you need?”

She grinned, “Is that a polite way of saying you’re busy? I wish to ask a favor of you, it will only take a moment of your time.”

“Of course,” he walked towards her, surprised when she moved further away from the people usually surrounding him.

“I very much wish for you to do a mana cleanse. The Fade gives me a headache and a cleanse takes it away,” she looked at him hopefully.

His smile faded, “Janna, I told you I’m not a templar anymore. I, I stopped taking lyrium. I can’t do as you ask, I’m sorry. Some templars, active templars, joined us. One of them will have to help you.”

She climbed on a rock so she could put her hands on his shoulders and look him in the eye. She didn’t like the pain and conflict she saw in them, “Cullen,” she said firmly, “my Ali still performs smites and cleanses. He taught many of his warriors how to do the same. None of them use lyrium.”

Cullen was surprised, “All recruits are given lyrium in a very diluted form before they actually learn those abilities. Those who don’t react well become either brothers or leave to apply their arms training elsewhere. But he was able to teach others without lyrium at all?”

“I don’t think he knew his trainers gave him lyrium. He always thought templars used it to make their abilities stronger, and maybe learn ones he didn’t know. He has never used it deliberately, this I know is truth,” she frowned. Her Ali wouldn’t like knowing that they gave him lyrium without his knowledge. The prospect of becoming like Carroll, the templar they met at the boat, always bothered him.

“If Alistair can do it, I can try,” Cullen said reluctantly. “What if it triggers cravings I can’t control? I hate to admit that I struggle with the temptation every day.”

Janna frowned, “I am sorry. I will ask another. I did not realize what a burden I was placing on your shoulders. You are a strong man, Cullen, or you would not have survived what that odious creature did to you, but I have no wish to bring you distress. This is truth.” She hopped down.

He grabbed her arm before she could leave, “No, let me try. I would rather know than not know, and it will be better if a friend is with me.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, closed his eyes and concentrated. It was both harder and easier than he expected to reach inside for his old abilities. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and then took another. This time when he let it out, he also performed the cleansing. He opened his eyes and looked down at Janna, “H-how was it? I’m afraid I’m a bit rusty.”

She smiled brilliantly, “That was very good, I feel much better. How was it for you?”

“Actually, it was pretty good for me too. I’ll be glad to do it again whenever you like,” he said.

“I won’t tell my Ali you do it even better than he does,” she grinned at the relief she felt.

“It’ll be our secret,” Cullen chuckled. Neither of them realized a soldier polishing his sword overheard their last words. The man was so startled he nearly sliced off his hand.

The Commander returned to his duties in a much better frame of mind and Jannasilane looked for Cassandra. When she didn’t see the Seeker she decided she might as well talk to Leliana’s Grey Warden. A few quick words for directions and she stood at the door of the cabin he shared with the blacksmith. “Warden Blackwall,” she stated when he opened the door to her knocks, “we need to talk. I come from the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden.”

“You better come in,” the older man stated. He sounded resigned.

A quick look and Jannasilane knew they were alone. Seconds later, she attacked and the surprised warrior was on the floor with her daggers at his throat. “You are no Grey Warden,” she hissed. “What are you doing here, and why do you pass yourself off as a Warden? Tell me, Blackwall.”

_“She knows I’m not a Warden but doesn’t know I’m not Blackwall? How is that possible?”_ He carefully swallowed; her daggers were very sharp against his skin. “I don’t know why you think I’m not a Grey Warden,” he said slowly. “I’m here for the same reason the soldiers out there are here: to help the Inquisition and restore order; to help the people of Ferelden and Orlais.”

She watched him watching her for several minutes and allowed his words to sink in, “That much is truth. I do not, however, _think_ you are not a Warden, I _know_ you are not a Warden. I sense this as truly as a Warden senses the darkspawn. There are only two Grey Wardens in Haven and they arrived with me.”

“May I sit up? I’m not as young as I used to be and prefer not to feel the hard floor at my back,” he moved cautiously when she acquiesced. “You are very fast.” Jannasilane smirked and he grimaced, “Several years ago I was recruited by a senior Warden but before we could reach his base he was killed in an ambush. Do you believe that, at least?”

“You speak the truth,” she replied steadily.

The older fighter raised his eyebrows, “I don’t know how you can be so sure, but I suppose I shouldn’t argue.” He leaned forward and put his chin on his clasped hands, “Maker’s balls, I don’t know what he saw in me, I’m not a good man . . . certainly I wasn’t then. I committed several terrible acts when I was even younger than you are. I was a greedy, proud, selfish bastard running from my past but he saw something worthwhile. He offered me the opportunity to become other, to become _more_.”

“Why not go to the Wardens?”

“I didn’t think they’d believe me. I knew what sort of man I was and I wouldn’t have believed me. So like a coward I ran. I came to Ferelden determined to become a better person, hopefully live up to whatever he saw in me. The Wardens’ habit of traveling alone or in pairs was useful, nobody doubted me when I said I was looking for recruits. In Ferelden, it’s easy to avoid cities and large villages. Mostly I helped farmers, good simple folk, defend their homes against bandits or worse. I know how to fight, it always came easily to me, and I trained those same farmers and peasants so they could better defend themselves when I was gone. With the mages and templars at each other’s throat, many people needed the help I could give them. That’s what I was doing when the Herald found me.”

Jannasilane tilted her head and frowned thoughtfully, “If you didn’t join the Inquisition you could have remained anonymous.”

“Aye, I could have. That would have been easy enough in the current chaos. But the Inquisition is about protecting all people, fighting the big evil so the little people can live. Isn’t that what Grey Wardens do? Helping farmers is worthwhile, but with the Inquisition, I have the opportunity to realize the potential the Warden saw in me. I’m not afraid of dying, I’m afraid of dying without proving to myself that I’m not just some craven dog.”

Jannasilane believed him. Oh, he wasn’t telling her the complete truth, and she did not intend to ask him about his past. She was satisfied he meant no harm and was committed to doing what he could to help; if he wanted to tell somebody the details of his past life then that was his business. Wardens didn’t ask each other because the Joining distinctly separated their lives into the no longer relevant past and the present. The man in front of her might not have had his Joining, but he was struggling to do the right thing.

“What will you do now? Should I leave?” Blackwall resigned himself to whatever she decided. He watched her frowning and thinking.

“Leave?” she finally answered, “No, I will tell Leliana the truth, that you show no worrying signs of whatever is attacking the Grey Wardens and that I see no reason for you not to stay as long as you can help. After this is over, you can come to Amaranthine and speak to the Commander about finally becoming a Warden in truth. I make no promises, however.”

Blackwall closed his eyes in relief, he couldn’t believe in his good fortune, “I won’t squander the gift you’ve given me, my lady. I promise you.”

“Leliana is my friend,” Jannasilane warned, “If she asks me specific questions I will not lie. I cannot, **will** not, treat her like that.”

“Fair enough. You humble me. I don’t deserve your grace but I will try,” he said gravely.

Jannasilane left, thinking about all she had learned. She hoped she was doing the right thing, Leliana was her friend and she didn’t like not telling her about Blackwall. She sighed when she saw Cassandra. This she could do for her friend, even if she was still irritated with the warrior woman.

Cassandra looked just as enthusiastic when she saw Jannasilane. She watched in resignation as the small woman with the hair approached her. She cleared her throat, “I owe you an apology -”

“I’m sorry I lost my temper -” Jannasilane spoke at the same time.

They stopped, looked at each other, and were about to speak at the same time again but Cassandra held up her hand, “No, you came to help us and I should not have been ranting. At least, not where others could hear me, my private thoughts should have remained so. I never meant to cause offense, and now that I have spoken with Leliana, I am ashamed that I spoke without knowing any facts. That is not a desirable quality in any one.”

Jannasilane shook her head at her, “No, I should not have attacked you because of your opinions. You are focused on a great danger and from your viewpoint the Grey Wardens are not helping. As the Right Hand of the Divine, you must have worked closely with Justinia, and you have my sympathies on your loss. She was a remarkable woman.”

“It is a loss to all of us. You met her? It must have been at Val Royeaux since I would have remembered seeing you during her one visit to Ferelden after becoming Divine.” Cassandra hesitated for a moment before speaking, “I passed the tavern when Varric was entertaining your friends. I believe the Qunari is not happy with you. That dwarf said he first met you in Kirkwall when the Arishok and his men were ravaging Kirkwall.”

“This is truth,” Jannasilane tilted her head quizzically.

“Did you really tell the Champion that she would do just fine, that ‘they were only Qunari’?”

Jannasilane bit her lip and shrugged, “Yes, I said something like that. I suppose he embellished a little, Varric does like to tell his stories.”

The warrior rolled her eyes, “Tell me about it. Many in Val Royeaux eagerly await his next book.” She looked down at the woman next to her. “You may not wish to indulge me but would you tell me more about the Grey Wardens? I don’t wish to cause offense when it is not warranted. I promise not to take up much of your time. Josephine will be sorry she missed you. She is a great admirer of you and the Commander.”

“I look forward to meeting her,” Jannasilane politely replied. “I don’t mind telling you about the Grey Wardens, a little bit anyway.” She looked around them and hopped onto the nearby wall, “There, now I do not have to keep craning my neck.” The two women talked for a time before separating.

Jannasilane thought a moment before going to the tavern, _“My Wardens and Cousins are most glad to finally be here. It took much longer than I thought it would, longer than during the Blight, but we arrived safely. Leliana said she would send a message to Amaranthine so my Ali need not worry. I hope Martelle has forgiven me,”_ she sighed wistfully.

The place was crowded, filled with people laughing and shouting. She made her way to the center of the noise and smiled, Varric was telling one of his stories about Hawke. “You make it sound like she had gravy running down her chin when the ogre attacked. Somehow I don’t think the Champion would appreciate the image of her as a rolling, deadly donut,” she chuckled.

“Magpie, about time you showed up. Hey, a hero needs something to make them human. Come sit down,” the dwarf waved her over. A lanky elf with shaggy hair, a wide mouth, and joker’s eyes patted the seat next to her. “Sera and I saw you arguing with the Seeker, you know how to make an entrance, Maggie.” 

“Oh,” Janna blushed, “I am afraid I was not at my best and lost my temper.”

“The temper thing, that was obvious, yeah?” Sera grinned. “Seeker’s always so serious and warrior face and then you, well, you’re all hair and curves and you don’t even have shoes. She’s so tall and you’re, you’re really short for a human, it was like a kitten yelling at a confused wolf or something.”

“I am not little,” Jannasilane growled even as her friends teasingly echoed her words.

“Hmm, true, you do have a big . . . personality,” Iron Bull stated with a straight face. Sera snickered.

Krem coughed, “The chief’s just annoyed at your ‘they’re only Qunari’ statement. He’s not used to anybody not being impressed with his giant man bosoms. I’m Krem, by the way, second-in-command of the Bull’s Chargers. He probably won’t introduce me now out of spite.”

The large Qunari shook his head gently, not wanting his horns to hit any of the other patrons, “Careful Krem, I may decide to dock your pay. So, you’re Ferelden’s Hofette,” he studied the small woman while her traveling companions burst out laughing.

“Another nickname for the list,” Varric muttered, “I’m going to need a notebook just to keep track of them all.”

Jannasilane ignored him, “Pleased to meet you, Krem, I am Jannasilane, though I suppose you already know this. You are here to help the Herald of Andraste?”

“That’s right, finest mercenary group you’ll meet.” The Tevinter was getting a kick at how annoyed his boss was getting at being ignored by the unusual woman. “No matter how good your soldiers, sometimes you need outside help or a small group with special skills and we’re the best. The chief sees to that.”

“Flexible thinking and unknown faces,” Janna tilted her head thoughtfully.

“That’s part of it,” the Iron Bull answered. “And sometimes a merchant or noble just needs the extra force for unusual situations. Demons falling out of the sky definitely qualify as unusual in my book.”

“This is truth. They are most annoying,” she wrinkled her nose.

“Annoying? They’re a good bit more than annoying, I don’t have enough arrows for them all,” Sera scowled.

“Too bad the Herald isn’t here,” Varric pulled out some cards, “Wicked Grace anyone?” He began dealing cards, “Just a friendly game. This place is too crowded for anything else. The Herald, Solas and our Lady Ambassador went to some fancy party near Val Royeaux. This Vivienne could swing a lot of political power to the Inquisition if she’s impressed. I bet Ruffles wanted to make sure nobody spilled the soup, or blood. They should be back in a couple of days.”

“The Friends’ve heard of her. A lot of nobles are scared to get on her bad side,” Sera scowled at her cards and threw them down, “A fat lot of rubbish that is.”

“Friends?”

“Friends of Red Jenny,” Sera explained.

Jannasilane took two cards, “We met a Red Jenny in Denerim. Well, not really met. Didn’t even speak, all we saw was a hand out of a door. We found a small painted box and returned it. That was during the Blight.”

“Really? That was you? I used to play with those boxes when I was a child. One of our Friends was upset that we lost one. We don’t use them now, but the painted boxes meant something then. Too funny to think I could have met the Warden and the Hero of Ferelden before he was a hero and a nob. And the Warden’s the bloody king of Ferelden,” the elf snorted. “But I suppose you lot did all right by the people.” They played until Janna couldn’t hide her yawns.


	131. Meet the Herald

“I don’t remember these dungeons,” Jannasilane placed a green marker on the ‘rift’ map.

Leliana moved another table next to the first. She decided since nobody used them, the dungeons were the best place to work on the rift maps. “I don’t think the cultists were using them, we found the door behind a book case. There, that should be good enough. Minaeve will join you for a short while and help identify places where the Veil might be thin. Cullen will send any of the templars who know of possible locations to you, one at a time. Some of the lay sisters are happily dying cloth and painting bits of wood for the map. Chancellor Roderick is scowling, of course, but even he acknowledges they will feel better if they have a purpose. My runner, Peter, will bring any rift updates. Have you met Mother Giselle? She is most interested in what you are doing and she and one of her fellow sisters want to work with you so they can take over after you leave.”

“Organized as ever,” Janna laughed.

Leliana grinned at her friend, “You haven’t met Josephine yet.” On that teasing note, she left and returned to her duties.

Jannasilane wasn’t alone for long. Soft footsteps preceded Mother Giselle, “Thank you for helping us, my child, I am Mother Giselle. With me on my right is Minaeve, a young mage who has been helping us greatly to better understand some of the creatures we face,” the young apprentice blushed at the praise. “Sister Dora assisted me in the Hinterlands and eagerly came with me to Haven, though that might be because she wants to explore new places.”

“With the way the world is changing you can almost do that without moving,” Jannasilane responded with a grin.

Sister Dora laughed somewhat ruefully, “You might be right, though the changes aren’t very good ones. I hope you don’t mind if I ask you questions about where you’ve traveled, my lady.”

“We shall have a lot of time to talk as we work on the map, this is truth,” the small woman agreed. “I hope to accomplish a great deal before the Herald returns. And please just call me Jannasilane or Janna.”

“What are all these, then?” Minaeve picked up a piece of plaideweave.

“I think there is a correlation between the size of the rift and the thinness of the Veil before the Breach,” Jannasilane explained. I know the Veil was thin here and here,” she placed two pieces of the brightly patterned material at Kal Hirol and the Dragonbone Wastes. “I believe there is a good chance the Veil was thin around Ostagar, but I do not know for certain. My understanding is that a place with a history of major battles is often a, a precursor to a thinner Veil.” She placed a square of dyed plaideweave on the map.

Minaeve confirmed her statement, “That is what I learned in the Circle and from my clan before that.” The apprentice pointed to the Brecelian Forest, “You have two pieces sewed together, one of each, here and here,” she moved her finger to Ferelden’s Circle at Lake Calenhad.

“That category is my squishy one, this is truth,” Jannasilane admitted.

“How is it squishy?” Mother Giselle asked, eyeing the young woman with interest.

“During the Blight one mage instigated a rebellion. When we went there with the Wardens’ treaty, demons and abominations ran rampant. The remaining templars were waiting for reinforcements and the Rite of Annulment.” Minaeve gasped and Janna nodded soberly, “Yes, it was very bad. My Wardens saved the Circle, but there is no doubt that as a result the Veil became thin, or even torn. A sloth demon even sent us into the Fade for a while,” she shuddered at the memory. “The templars and mages have been working together since then to repair the damage.”

“So, it is more likely to be torn now,” Dora nodded her head thoughtfully. “And the Brecelian Forest?”

“Ah, well, I know the Veil is thin, and has been for a long time. The Dalish warned us about roaming the woods for some spirits, trapped inside trees, watched and attacked interlopers. However, since any Dalish have probably moved elsewhere and there are no settlements I know of, investigating it for rifts can wait. In my opinion,” Jannasilane hastily added.

Mother Giselle sighed, “I am sure you are right. Difficult as it is to leave them be for now, the Herald of Andraste has to concentrate her efforts where they can do the most good.”

“Yes,” Janna stated. She picked up a piece of wood painted a bilious green, “This is a rift.” She then tied some orange yarn around it, “Now it is a large rift. This is the one we have been monitoring in Amaranthine,” she placed it on the map. “I consider a large rift to be one that can send six or more demons at a time. On the way to Haven we passed other, smaller rifts.” She placed more pieces of green wood on the map. The Herald has closed some rifts,” she picked up a piece of wood painted blue and placed it carefully on the map. “If you know which ones were large, then we need to wrap them with orange yarn as well.”

The apprentice picked up several pieces of dyed cloth, “Every Circle has to be considered as possibly having a thinned Veil. Young mages makes a lot of mistakes early in their training.” She didn’t mention the Harrowings.

“I see that Kirkwall has several areas marked,” Dora noted. “Is that because of the blast and what happened with Meredith?”

Jannasilane shook her head, “Partly, Kirkwall was wrong before then. I am afraid Varric’s city will need much attention.” Sister Dora became Jannasilane’s most consistent helper as Mother Giselle had many duties and Minaeve didn’t have much to contribute after the first day. Dora, also from a small village, was only three years older than she was and it didn’t take long for the two young women to become friendly.

“Maybe I’ve been looking at your map too long, but I think I see a pattern,” Dora said on the third day of working together.

Janna rubbed her temples, “Let us hope the Herald of Andraste can use this information.”

Dora frowned, “Another headache? I thought it was better for you down here because the thick walls acted as a buffer.” She’d soon learned about her new friend’s sensitivity to the Fade.

Whatever Janna might have responded was forestalled when a small group of people entered their work area, “I hope this map they’re working on isn’t a waste of time,” a tall Qunari woman was saying.

“I hope so as well,” Janna retorted with a raised eyebrow. She winked at Dora. “If it does turn out to be a waste of time then it was my time wasted and not yours.”

“Gracie, I have some more information from Leliana,” Blackwall handed her the notes and joined Krem who was watching from the side until he could speak to Hairful.

“I am so pleased to meet you, Lady Jannasilane,” a beautiful Antivan with a soft voice responded. “I have been an admirer of you and your husband for some years; you are practically legends in some circles. You have already helped us a great deal. We passed Cullen training soldiers in rift management per your guidelines. Now, when somebody reports a rift to us we can reply with a plan of action to minimize their danger until the Herald of Andraste can close it. It adds to our credibility which will only help us in the long run.”

“Bragaara Adaar,” the Qunari strode forward and shook her hand, “I didn’t mean to make light of your efforts. Leliana intercepted us as soon as we entered the gates and said you were testing out a theory. If it means I can travel more efficiently then I’m all for it.”

“Yes, I understand how tiring constantly crisscrossing the country can be, this is truth,” Janna agreed.

“I looked forward to meeting a woman who claims to know about the Fade,” Jannasilane looked to the back of the group where a bald elf was studying her. He walked forward, “You are not even a mage, so such intimate knowledge is even more interesting.”

Janna frowned very slightly when he drew closer, “Know about the Fade? No, that is not truth though I may know a little more than many. I was trapped in it twice and do not care for it. It is more accurate to say that I am sensitive to it. You, I sense the Fade about you, and your magic is also very Fade-y.”

“Interesting,” Solas replied. “Forgive my manners, I am Solas. I have indeed studied the Fade a great deal and have been helping the Inquisition in my small way.”

“Solas has been more than just a little helpful,” Bragaara noted. “You must also sense my hand, then.”

“Ye-es, but not as steadily. The energy seems to be quiet for the moment. I imagine it flares up greatly when near a rift.”

Bragaara nodded in agreement, “That’s right, it does. It gets more intense at other times, though I am not sure why.”

“My dear, this little map of yours appears to be informative. I see a pattern emerging,” a tall, beautiful, exquisitely dressed woman had been ignoring them while studying the results of their efforts. “You can change these areas to definitely thin and, if I understand your assistant correctly, add one of your combination pieces here.” She pointed.

“Yes,” Solas agreed and indicated other updates. “The pattern is clear. If you will excuse me,” the elven mage left, to Jannasilane’s quiet relief.

“I too must return to my duties,” Josephine smiled. “I would love to talk more when you have the opportunity, my lady, I have so many questions. My office is just upstairs,” she turned around in a rustle of silks.

“Thanks for your help, Josephine,” Bragaara said to the retreating Antivan. She turned to the small human, “The Inquisition would flounder if it depended on my diplomatic skills.”

“Yes, more than once my Leliana rescued a situation we were hopelessly bungling, this is truth,” Jannasilane smiled at the memories.

“I am sure you are more capable than you let on, Herald,” Madame Vivienne drawled with one eyebrow elegantly raised. “You don’t look like an Arlessa, unless the Ferelden nobles I’ve met in the past were the anomaly. I suppose we should be grateful the Hero of Ferelden deigned to send any help at all.”

Blackwall scowled from his place against the wall, _“Arrogant bitch, I can see how that mage fit well in Celene’s court.”_

Janna didn’t like the woman either. “Yes, you should be very grateful to my Ali that he killed the Archdemon before it could destroy the magnificence of the Grand Cathedral or any of Orlais’ other beautiful buildings. I know I am grateful for my most wonderful Ali every day,” she nodded her head vigorously.

“How quaint,” Vivienne just looked amused. “You don’t need more of _my_ help down in this dismal place. I shall leave you to . . . all this. Later, my dear,” she waved her hand airily and sauntered away.

Bragaara sighed and waited until the mage was out of earshot, “I’m sorry Jannasilane; she likes to unsettle people. I think it’s how she takes their measure.”

“Or she could just be a bitch,” Blackwall pushed himself off the wall.

“Your eyes are whirling like crazy, Spitnails,” Krem noticed with a grin. “I bet that’s what they looked like when you were arguing with the Seeker.”

Jannasilane smiled a little and shrugged, “It is truth that I do not look like an Arlessa. I thank the Maker every day for my Ali and our family; this is also truth.”

“So, do you believe I walked out of the Fade?” Bragaara got right to the point.

“I do not understand why it is so unbelievable,” Jannasilane pursed her lips thoughtfully. She blinked a little at their surprise and Dora’s somewhat scandalized expression, “The Tevinter magisters did it, though they did not like the results. However, I do not believe there has ever been such an explosion of the Fade, unless that is how Fen’Harel sealed the elven gods, according to the Dalish legends. If this Breach could cause rifts to appear and spit out demons across nations, why couldn’t it suck people into the Fade? I find it odd that others weren’t pulled in and you survived unharmed, more or less. I think somebody helped you, whether it was Andraste or another.”

“So you don’t think it at all strange?” Blackwall grunted.

“I still think it’s strange,” Bragaara frowned.

Jannasilane snickered then burst out laughing, “Strange? Stranger than werewolves or statues who speak? Stranger than finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes? Maybe, but during the Blight we encountered much that was strange or unusual. To me it is strange to remember the girl I was when I first met the Wardens. She came from a farm near a very small village. That girl was fascinated by the Chanter in Lothering, she’d never met one before or been to such a large place.”

Blackwall guffawed, “You mean those stories Varric tells are true?”

“This I cannot answer. I can only say that many strange things happened, not that Varric reports them truthfully. I think, perhaps, he exaggerates.” The others laughed, for the dwarf did like to embellish his tales and each retelling was unique. “Lady Bragaara,” Jannasilane grew serious, “I have not yet gone to see your Breach. I do not know if I will be able to go more than once and waited to see if you wished to be there when I did.”

Bragaara nodded, “Yes, if you think you can learn something that might help us. However, I want to go to Lothering and Redcliffe first. I’d like you to accompany me. We can seal the large rift near Lothering and you can send word to your waiting caravan to go The Crossroads. It’s the base for many of the relief efforts in the Hinterlands and your people should easily be able to avoid any small rifts. Redcliffe is where I could really use your presence. Leliana said you know it fairly well and can tell us if anything is unusual, by Redcliffe standards not yours,” she noted dryly. “Fiona and the mages are there and she wants to talk about an alliance.”

“Fiona? I met her a few years ago,” Jannasilane answered slowly. “Yes, I would very much like to know why my friends were kicked out of their home. Arl Teagan is a good man and has always been sympathetic to mages; it makes no sense to dispossess him and his family.”

“Making enemies out of friendly sympathizers who might be powerful allies? I can’t say it sounds like a smart move. We’ll leave first thing in the morning. This is a diplomatic mission,” the Herald of Andraste rolled her eyes, “so we’ll keep our group small. You’re welcome to bring one or two of your companions with you, but no more than that.”

Blaine said she would stay behind to help Cullen and his men train to fight with mages. No matter what the Herald of Andraste ultimately decided, some mages and templars were going to fight with the Inquisition and needed to learn how not to hurt their own people. Nathaniel and Saykor were going to scout the way to the Breach because, as Saykor put, “Some people were stupid as nugs when shit happened,” and they didn’t want any surprise bandit attacks. That’s how Jannasilane and Cragen ended up accompanying the Herald, Cassandra, Sera, and Solas to Redcliffe.


	132. Redcliffe is Disturbing

“Yo, Elfina,” Sera elbowed her on the road to Redcliffe, “that templar in Lothering certainly remembered you. He said you were all grown up, or some such rubbish. I mean, you couldn't have been a kid hanging onto the Warden’s armor - that would just be stupid."

Cragen shrugged, "Well, she's small enough to dangle from somebody's belt."

Sera grinned, "You mean like some elfy good luck charm?"

"The Commander always says the day they met was the luckiest day in his life."

"I was the lucky one. He is my always," she tapped her ring lightly.

"Maybe I'm a sap, but of all their adventures together the day they met is my favorite story," Cragen admitted quietly to Cassandra.

The warrior was surprised, "No, I think you demonstrate more depth than the comments about her being a lucky charm." She called out to Jannasilane, "We may have more in common than either of us could guess; I was little older than you were then when I found myself in the middle of events involving betrayal and conspiracy at the highest levels."

“Perhaps, Seeker, you would be willing to tell me more about such undoubtedly fascinating events,” Cragen said, looking for any excuse to spend time with the amazing warrior.

“I, too, am curious,” Jannasilane nodded, oblivious to the one-sided flirtation.

In Haven, Nathaniel and Saykor were getting ready to scout the Breach. “Let’s take our fellow ‘Warden’ with us,” Nate suggested.

Saykor agreed, “Lady J might trust the guy, but I want my own take. On the plus side, he not only was helping farmers defend their families he was teaching them how to fight more effectively. We know one big minus, are there more?” The dwarf frowned, “Nate, there’s something else . . . have you felt different since leaving the Vigil?”

“So it isn’t just me,” the rogue said quietly. He double-checked his supply of arrows, “The Calling doesn’t feel as strong as it did. Is that what you mean?”

“Yeah, everything I know about the Wardens and their Calling, I’ve met a few in the Deep Roads, it’s not something that ebbs and flows. It’s supposed to get steadily stronger. In that respect I’m feeling better, and these last few weeks have been pretty good; fewer responsibilities, no paperwork, no recruits whining or complaining . . . but, sod it, I want to get back to the Vigil and the Wardens,” he grumbled.

Nathaniel stopped what he was doing, “So do I, but I thought it was because of Sigrun. We never said anything,” he shrugged and didn’t elaborate. “If you’re feeling that way, and I know you don’t have the same personal interest, maybe this attack is more complex than just a false Calling.”

“Whoever created this magic, maybe the ‘Calling’ is stronger when around other Grey Wardens and the Commander played right into that when he recalled all his Wardens to the Vigil.”

“To be fair, that may have been more tactical than magical influence. Let’s face it; Alistair will always want to know his people are as trained and prepared for some new enemy as possible. It’s one reason nobody is permanently on the road and we have to spend some time at the Vigil. Even if he knew this urge to gather was part of the spell, I think he would have still called everybody in. When we return, I’m going to risk asking Leliana to send a message to Alistair, coded of course. I’m ready,” Nathaniel hoisted his pack.

“Let’s go grab ourselves a Warden,” Saykor settled his crossbow and battleaxe in place and the two Grey Wardens went in search of their ersatz fellow.

Sera was teasing Jannasilane, “You remind me of a merchant traveling through Orlais a few years ago. Well, you remind me of what he was selling, when you’re not being all elfy, that is. They were these small stuffed toys made of really soft fabric and squishable. He called them plushies. That’s what you are, one cute little plushie I could pick up and cuddle.”

“I am not a toy and I am not little,” Jannasilane scowled at the elf.

Bragaara couldn’t resist joining Sera, the only one who could break through the stern façade she wore, “Oh, I don’t know. I could easily pick you up and squish you in a great big hug. I bet your Ali does it all the time.” She and Sera grinned at each other over the smaller woman’s head when Jannasilane turned bright red. She called after Jannasilane when she stalked away from them, muttering something uncomplimentary, “Hey, I’m sure it’s some sort of blasphemy to say that about the Herald of Andraste.”

“What happened?” Cassandra demanded.

Solas permitted himself a small smile, “I think your friend just received a new nickname.”

“Plushie!” Sera and Bragaara answered the unspoken question in unison.

Cragen snickered, “The Commander will like that one. He’s always picking her up.” His comment caused Sera to double over with laughter.

Cassandra rolled her eyes at all of them and joined Jannasilane where she stood looking over the outskirts of Redcliffe village. “They were just teasing,” she said when she saw the other woman’s frown.

Jannasilane shrugged, “No, look down there. I have been to Redcliffe many times; something is not right.”

“I’ll inform the Herald. I do not like this; we should move forward carefully,” the warrior turned to the others and shared Jannasilane’s concerns.

The mayor’s guard, who were actually some of Arl Teagan’s soldiers assigned to assist the mayor as needed, huddled together trying to figure out how to deal with the rift and demons at the gates to the heart of Redcliffe village. “Do you sense it?” Solas asked Jannasilane who was studying the rift and scowling.

“It feels different,” Bragaara opened her hand and looked back and forth between the rift and the glow in her palm.

“Somebody has used magic on it,” Jannasilane huffed.

“They have somehow altered time around the rift.” Solas’ nostrils flared, “I did not think any knew of such magic.”

The Herald took command, “We’re going to have to move quickly; one, two hits and shift. Makes me wonder how Fiona got to Val Royeaux,” she said to herself.

After clearing the rift they soon found out no one was expecting them, including the Grand Enchanter. “There are many blood mages here,” Jannasilane whispered. Bragaara nodded slightly, showing she understood. Sera’s eyes widened and muttered something about her being elfy again. Jannasilane quietly spoke to the few people she knew and didn’t like what she heard. Neither did anybody else.

“I want to know what Fiona has to say for herself,” Bragaara stated. Only her tense jaw indicated how angry she was after they found the hut full of skulls.

Fiona denied ever going to Val Royeaux. Jannasilane frowned; the Grand Enchanter’s denial rang true and false at the same time. “What were we to do? Our situation was becoming more desperate by the hour and then Magister Alexius appeared to offer his assistance,” Fiona tried to defend her actions. Jannasilane glared at the woman, she fought for mage freedom and then indentured them all to a magister without so much as a vote.

“How convenient,” Bragaara drawled, causing the older elf to flush angrily.

Magister Alexius entered and forestalled any argument, “Now, now let us remain civilized. The Inquisition requires mages to help you seal this Breach of yours. They are mine, therefore you need to discuss terms with me. What can you offer me to convince me to lease my newest soldiers to you?” Fiona protested, claiming their deal was indentured servitude with a path to citizenship and not becoming part of his army. He dismissed her, “I changed my mind. You’ll be a much quicker return on my considerable investment this way. Herald?”

Jannasilane didn’t like him and didn’t trust him. Whatever he planned, she could sense this negotiation was nothing more than a deception. In Ferelden, he would be bound to honor the initial agreement with Fiona. Changing the terms as he did negated the agreement and Fiona was free of him, or would be if one or both were Fereldan. Bragaara wasn’t inclined to make a deal just yet, so Jannasilane held her tongue. She’d have a chance to tell the Herald what she knew soon.

A young man entered the room and Jannasilane frowned slightly, she sensed the taint within him. She frowned even more when he pretended to stumble into the Herald’s arms. Alexius cut the meeting short and ushered his son out of the room, barking for an unhappy Fiona to follow. Once they were gone, Bragaara slowly opened her hand to reveal a crumpled note. “He wants us to meet him in the Chantry,” she said quietly.

“The only truth in this room was Alexius’ concern for his son,” Jannasilane told her. The Herald nodded agreement.

“Let’s go see what Felix has to say,” Bragaara decided, against Sera and Cassandra’s advice. “Trap or ally, there’s only one way to find out,” Bragaara carefully opened the Chantry’s large oak door. They didn’t see Felix; instead, they saw another mage confronting demons and a rift.

“Well don’t just stand there,” the man said. “It’s not fair for me to have all the fun.” After the demons were gone, he watched the Herald close the rift. “It's truly fascinating to see you in action. I was half-convinced the stories were just stories. Oh, they would just love you back home,” he smirked in amusement. He bowed, “Allow me to introduce myself, Dorian of House Pavus, mage extraordinaire and former protégé to Magister Alexius. You obviously got Felix’s note; he should be here soon.”

“His father was concerned for his health,” Bragaara replied. She studied the Tevinter, as did everyone else. “You’re going against your mentor?” she cautiously asked.

“Hard to believe, I know. Alexius used to be different; we theorized about the possibility of time travel but could never put theory into practice. You had to come by the rift at the gates; he’s obviously learned a thing or two since then. Ah, Felix,” he greeted his friend.

“I shouldn’t have played the sick card; I thought Father would never stop fussing. Herald, my father is a good man but he’s misguided. He can’t accept that I’m ill and Mother is dead. He feels guilty that he didn’t prevent the ambush and in desperation listened to the Venatori who said they could help him. The Venatori are a curse, a plague that rises up occasionally and reinforces the stereotype of evil Tevinter magisters. Some of us want Tevinter to move forward and take our place in _this_ world instead of moaning about lost glory.” Felix shook his head, “Herald, my father has no intention of helping you; it’s a trap. All this, this madness,” he waved his arm, “it has to stop. I need to get back before Father realizes I’m gone. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

“Be careful Felix,” Dorian said, “I really don’t want you to die.”

Felix smiled sadly, “There are worse things than death. Dorian, Herald,” he nodded and left. Jannasilane stopped him at the door and spoke to him quietly for a moment, and then let him go. She rejoined the group contemplating the sparkly Tevinter mage.

“The Venatori is a nasty cult who wants to return Tevinter to the bad old days. I wish to stop them. They give Tevinter a bad name,” he twirled his mustache.

“A Tevinter magister wishes to ally with us? Against his own mentor? Does this sound suspicious to anyone else?” Cassandra narrowed her eyes at the mage.

“How do I know I can trust you,” Bragaara demanded.

“You don’t really. And for the record, my father is the magister in the family, not I.” Dorian rolled his eyes, “If I wished to do you harm I could simply not have warned you. Rather elaborate to warn you about a trap only to be a trap myself don’t you think? I put myself at risk, you know.”

“Gain our confidence, learn about any weaknesses, then inform your masters, it has been done before,” Cassandra wasn’t convinced.

Bragaara made her decision, “I think . . . Jannasilane, what is your opinion?” she abruptly asked.

Jannasilane blinked, “He is very pretty, and sparkly. He may even be the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.” Dorian couldn’t help preening smugly. Janna walked towards him and he had a chance to see her eyes whirling as she studied him in turn. “Your magic, it is very cool, like the Mor-Mortalitasi of Nevarra but you are not one.”

“How fascinating you are,” the Tevinter murmured. “No, I am not but my concentration has much in common with theirs. I’ve never met anybody who could sense a magical specialty.”

“Do you wish to join the Inquisition, to help us seal the Breach?” she asked him.

“I wish to help you restore order and put a stop to the Venatori’s plans, they really are nasty creatures. If we kill them, even better. I’m not much of a joiner but I don’t like that hole in the sky any more than you do,” he answered.

“Even if it means killing Felix’s father, your former mentor, a man you still care about?” Everybody silently waited for his answer.

Dorian closed his eyes, pained by the thought, and reopened them. He sadly stared down at her, “I hope we can find a way to save him, to steer him away from his current course, but I have already accepted that it may not be possible. I do not think I can deal the killing blow myself, however.”

Jannasilane stepped away from him moments later and turned to the Herald, “He speaks truth. I sensed no lies nor did I sense any blood magic controlling him.”

Bragaara was startled, “You can sense that?”

“I can sense that he is not a blood mage, this is truth. I do not know if I can sense when a person is being controlled by a blood mage but Cragen recited the Litany of Adralla, which should have broken or at least disrupted the blood mage’s hold. I sensed no such disruption, this is also truth.”

“Huh,” Bragaara replied. “Well, you confirmed my decision though I wonder what your Ali would think about you gushing over how pretty and sparkly another man is.”

“Humph, nobody is as handsome as my Ali, this is truth,” Jannasilane sniffed.

Stifling a grin, the Herald turned towards Dorian, “We welcome your assistance, though I haven’t made my decision regarding the mages just yet.”

“Fascinating,” Dorian repeated. He bowed flamboyantly to the Herald, “I shall take my leave and meet you in Haven. It will do neither of us any good for you to be seen in Redcliffe with me.”

“I hope you are right,” Cassandra said to the two women. “I, for one, look forward to leaving this village.”

“Lady J is pretty reliable in these matters,” Cragen said in his Arlessa’s defense. “Do you wish a mana cleanse, my lady?” he asked Jannasilane.

“Not until we are well out of Redcliffe. I think it not wise to alert any to templar abilities in our midst and I am not sure how much distance is needed as buffer.”

“I agree,” the Herald stated. “Let’s go. The morning after we reach Haven we’ll go take a look at the Breach. Maybe you can find out something that will help me come to a decision about the best way to seal it.”


	133. Facing the Breach

Jannasilane was waiting for Blaine to join her, Saykor, and Nathaniel before discussing Redcliffe. She rolled her head on her shoulders, “I will be glad to have this Breach business done, this is truth. I wish to be home with my Ali and our children.”

“About that,” Nathaniel explained his and Saykor’s theory, “Leliana let me use her birds to send a message to Alistair. I don’t know that he can do anything about it, but maybe our mages can come up with something.”

“Somebody thinks they are very clever,” Janna frowned.

Blaine came in and flopped onto the bed, “I’m exhausted. Cullen was on a real tear today and it’s all your fault,” she accused Jannasilane.

“My fault? I have not been here,” Janna protested. She stared at Nate and Saykor, who were grinning like schoolboys.

“Did you tell Cullen that he does it better than the boss?” Nathaniel’s eyes twinkled. The soldier who overheard their lady and the former templar was not discreet and the gossip ran through the ranks like wildfire, though his interpretation had nothing to do with templar abilities.

“He has more experience than my Ali, this is truth,” Janna stated seriously. Busy with her maps and trip to Redcliffe she didn’t hear any of the rumors about her relationship with Commander Cullen and was nonplussed when the two Wardens and Blaine burst out laughing. She turned bright red when they explained, “When, what, how . . . no, do not tell me. I do not wish to know. As if either of us,” she huffed.

“Don’t worry, Lady J,” Saykor quickly reassured her, “when your templar friend heard the rumors, well, the surprise on his face could be seen across Haven. He got angry that somebody would ‘impugn the reputation of a woman who has done so much for Ferelden’ and that he was ‘insulted that any would consider he was capable of such dishonorable behavior.’”

“He said the men obviously had too much time on their hands. That’s why training was rather brutal, though more for them than me,” Blaine chuckled.

“I was going to ask Cullen to come with us to the Breach tomorrow, but now . . .” Janna’s voice trailed off and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

The Wardens became serious. “Mouse, he’s going. He’s not letting silly rumors prevent him from what he sees is his duty. Neither Saykor nor Cragen are good enough if you need a mana cleanse. The rift in Amaranthine is as a mud puddle to the Amaranthine Ocean when you compare it to the Breach. We scouted it while you were gone. I won’t tell you any more, you’ll see soon enough.” The two Wardens also decided not to tell her what they thought about the red lyrium until afterwards.

Early the next morning the two Wardens with Varric and Sera trailed after the group going with Jannasilane to the Breach. Bragaara, Leliana, Cassandra, Dorian and Cullen were with her. Dorian wanted to see the Breach for himself; Cullen and Cassandra allowed him to go because they didn’t trust him enough to let him out of their sight for an extended length of time.

“Why doesn’t Elfina want Solas with her?” Sera asked them. “He’s the one that seems to know all about it, Mr. I-walk-in-the-Fade-for-fun.”

“She’s afraid his magic might throw her off,” Nate explained. “The Herald has to be there, but she wants as clean an impression as she can get. Besides, we don’t want all our mages around if Commander Cullen has to perform a mana cleanse,” he added. _“And she doesn’t trust the elf. He may not be lying but she does sense a lot of him is hidden; it bothers her that when she sees him she thinks of Flemeth.”_

“Plushie’s more elfy than a lot of the elves I know,” Sera rolled her eyes.

“I hope the Breach is more like the rifts I have seen and not the tears I saw in the Blackmarsh,” Jannasilane noted.

“Oh, why is that, adorable girl?” Dorian asked. He started calling her that after she said he was pretty and scolded one of the soldiers in Haven who was giving him a hard time for being a Tevinter. Her obliviousness to the influence she had on others charmed him completely; it was so refreshing.

“They had to be sealed from within the Fade, where they were guarded by desire demons. Yech,” she grimaced.

 “You’re not a mage and yet you walked the Fade to seal rifts?” he asked incredulously.

Janna shook her head, “No, we were trapped there by a darkspawn. We sealed the rifts while we searched for a way out.”

“Like the sloth demon at Lake Calenhad’s Circle?” Cullen raised his eyebrows.

“A darkspawn can wield that type of magic?” Dorian asked at the same time.

“Yes,” Jannasilane answered. “In Amaranthine after the Blight we had to deal with two groups of very intelligent darkspawn battling for control. They were most annoying; this is truth. They didn’t cause the rifts, however; an Orlesian noblewoman and blood mage some decades, or even centuries, ago caused it when her people rose up against her. She was taking their children. A version of the village housed the souls of the people, keeping them from passing on, as they should. Something like that. I was quite happy we escaped.”

“Fascinating,” Dorian replied. It was his favorite expression around her and the Herald.

“Horrifying might be more accurate,” Cassandra disagreed.

“In this, I think I agree with Cassandra,” Bragaara stated. “My company ran into some darkspawn a few years ago, they were bad enough without extra intelligence and advanced magical skills.”

“What is it, my friend?” Leliana asked some time later. They were near the base of the temple.

“The lyrium feels different,” Janna wrinkled her nose.

“You’re sensitive to lyrium, too?” Dorian nodded thoughtfully, “That makes sense, with its connection to the Fade and magic. Is it hurting you?” he asked in concern. The others waited for her answer.

“No, not hurting me. It is more of a vague scritchy feeling inside my head, like . . . maybe I’ll know more when we’re closer.”

“I think your reaction last time was more pleasant,” Leliana teased.

Janna blushed and stuck her tongue out at the bard, “You are a bad, bad woman.”

“Will it interfere with examining the Breach,” Bragaara got down to business.

“No.” Jannasilane was positive.

“It was about here that you challenged the dragon,” Leliana stated, effectively changing the subject. “A high dragon, of course,” she added. “You scared us all, Blake and Alistair were very angry with you.”

“You actually challenged a dragon? That’s so-o-o . . . woof,” Sera started looking around for another one. The two Wardens grinned at each other, Zevran entertained several of them one evening with a dramatic, and exaggerated telling of that event complete with his interpretation of Alistair’s actions afterward. “Do you think we’ll find another one?” Sera was practically on her toes.

Bragaara winked at her, “I promise to take you with me if we hear about one.” Sera smiled happily.

“I thought Blondie was kidding,” Varric shook his head and grumbled. “I’ve had enough of dragons. We had to clear them out of the Bone Pit.”

“We are very close, prepare yourself. It will be unpleasant,” Cassandra said somberly. They were about to enter the field of statues, the remains of people running from the explosion. After a stunned moment Jannasilane began swearing in Orlesian, every curse Clarel and Nalia taught her dropping from her tongue with increasing frequency.  

“Whoever is responsible for this needs to die, preferably slowly and in considerable agony,” Dorian’s nostrils flared. “I don’t care if they are from Tevinter, Orlais, or the other side of Thedas.”

“They are still hot from the magic that caused this,” Jannasilane said after she calmed down enough to speak properly. She began walking quickly to the other side and the final path to the Breach.

“Commander,” Saykor spoke quietly, “Cherryplum needs a mana cleanse to clear her mind before she confronts the Breach.” Cullen nodded and rapidly moved to her side. Dorian waited with the Wardens until the templar finished. The mage was white with anger. Sera stalked from one figure to another, muttering imprecations the whole time.

“You told me there was much red lyrium, my Wardens. This is more than I expected,” Jannasilane stared at the lumps and hills growing near the Breach. “It feels,” her voice trailed off and she raised one eyebrow at her Ali’s trusted seconds.

Nathaniel nodded his head, answering her unspoken question, “Yes. That’s what we thought but hoped you wouldn’t agree; it needs testing, of course. We can discuss the details later.”

Her look promised a great deal of discussion but she didn’t say anything further. Instead, she started moving away and down, “There is much less lyrium on the other side and will be less likely to interrupt my concentration once it is blocked by the Breach.” She didn’t want to admit how scared she was, her friends would worry more and fear wouldn’t change her actions.

“She’s absolutely terrified,” Saykor waited until she was out of hearing before speaking. “I heard her talking in her sleep one night. Haven is so close to the Breach she doesn’t sleep well.”

“Mouse is good at facing what scares her,” Nate said somberly. He watched her, as did the others.

“She and Alistair have had much practicing facing their fears since Lothering,” Leliana added softly. “I am not sure the Archdemon was the worst.” Cullen didn’t say anything. He watched Jannasilane intently so he could act as soon as possible. He still felt guilty for hurting her years ago when they first met and was determined to protect her from further harm if it was in his power to do so.

Jannasilane ignored her companions and concentrated on moving forward. Years of meditating with her Ali stood her in good stead now as she cleared her mind in preparation for the ordeal in front of her. She relaxed her body, closed her eyes and slowly breathed in and out, then again even deeper and a third time still deeper. The Fade pressed against her, pounding at her. She opened herself towards it a little at a time, her vision unfocussed through half-open lids. The headache started to build but she ignored it while she studied the Breach. If she could just . . . BAM!

Cullen was running before she fell to the ground. He picked her up, her body besieged by spasms, and quickly performed a mana cleanse before he started running back and out of the temple. He yelled at Dorian to cast a barrier then ran past the statues and down the path until he was far enough away to examine her. Blood streamed from her nose and leaked from her eyes. He cursed and performed more cleanses until Dorian got closer, “Do you know any healing magic or anything else that can help her?”

“I’ll do what I can,” the mage answered somberly. Leliana was pulling out health and regeneration potions but the minute a vial touched her friend’s lips Jannasilane began to squirm.

She managed to push herself out of Cullen’s arms and crawl a short distance before she began retching. She didn’t notice Leliana holding back her hair and supporting her. When she was finished she was too weak to do anything but roll away and lie shivering, “C-c-old, s-so c-c-cold.”

“Cullen, take off your breastplate and then wrap your furs around the two of you, creating a cocoon. Dorian can send a little heat to start warming her up,” Leliana commanded. The former templar didn’t hesitate. He quickly dumped his most prized armor on the ground and removed the tie on the back of his cloak. He shrugged his fur back on and picked up the small woman before sitting down again so he could practically swaddle the two of them in the now voluminous cloak.

“I didn’t realize it would affect her so much,” Varric said worriedly.

“She knew,” Leliana and Cullen replied simultaneously.

Bragaara shook her head in surprise, the sun glinting off the decorative nevarrite bands on her horns. “She’s got more balls than most; I hope it was worth it,” her voice softer than her choice of words.

“Yeah, I mean, it wouldn’t be right, Plushie going through this and not getting shit out of it. Stupid elfy human, stupid Fade,” Sera unconsciously stepped close to the Herald for comfort.

“She’s no longer shivering, at least,” Cullen noted. “For months after we met, I sometimes dreamed of holding her in my arms, but not like this. I never told her and she certainly never encouraged me,” he added quickly when he realized he spoke aloud. “Besides, Alistair is a lot bigger than I am.”

“The boss still doesn’t like it when people flirt too much with Cherryplum,” Saykor confirmed.

“Silly man,” Jannasilane murmured drowsily.

“You’re awake,” Leliana smiled.

“Yes, and doing quite well,” Dorian, after a quick examination, was amazed at how quickly she was recovering.

“I will be fine, I am just tired,” she tried to get down.

Cullen stopped her, “No. Your punishment for worrying us is that you have to stay in my arms. I might even carry you all the way back to your cabin,” he threatened.

“Fine,” she huffed but was too tired to do more.

Nathaniel came forward with a damp handkerchief. He grasped her chin firmly in one hand and gently washed away the blood drying on her cheeks. “Did you tell Alistair?” he asked sternly. She just tilted her chin up mutinously in answer. “You should have told him, us,” he berated her. “You scared us, my Lady Plushie Mouse.” Sera snickered in the background. Even Cassandra couldn’t help thinking she looked like a child being scolded by her parents and smiled a little.

“Why?” she answered back fiercely. “I would still be here and my Ali would worry even more than I know he already is and our children would be more frightened than they are now. Do not fret, my Nate,” she spoke more softly now, “I would not have come to the Breach alone, even if none from the Vigil were with me. It scares me too much,” she admitted. She yawned.

“Janna,” Leliana got her attention, “my friend, before you fall asleep . . . did you learn anything?”

“Yes,” Bragaara stepped forward. “I’m sorry this hurt you, but were you able to get a sense of anything that might be able to help us?” She sat next to Cullen so the small woman didn’t have to twist her neck to speak to her. Cullen shifted his hold so Janna was more upright.

She curled into his warmth and considered how best to answer, “As I suspected, the focus point, if that is the best word, to closing the Breach is in the Temple and not in the Fade itself. In that respect, it is like the rifts. I think it is more powerful than you realize.”

“That’s not good,” Varric grumbled.

“Go on, Janna,” Bragaara encouraged.

“The rifts, when you close them you do it by directing your mark at the spiky energy ball. The Breach is much denser and more active. It is like a, a contained cyclone of Fade energy, “she brought her hands together and formed a circle with her thumbs and fingertips. “It is also angry,” she tilted her head and rethought her words. “Rather, it is full of anger, the anger of the one who created it. I sensed a great deal of magical power, frustrated pride, malice, anger. Even more than anger, the one responsible hungers. For what I do not know, I could only sense his, I think his, hunger for something. Something for which he is willing to risk all. He is most dangerous,” she added.

“Maker’s breath,” Leliana’s eyes widened. “No wonder it hurt you so much.”

“Can I close it? If I have enough power, that is.”

“Oh yes. You will need a great deal of power; this is truth. Even he had assistance from other mages, this I also sensed. If you gain the cooperation of the mages in Redcliffe you will be able to draw on them and they can expand your mark’s power.” Janna felt Cullen’s arms tensing around her and looked up at him.

“What about the templars?” he asked quietly.

She patted his arm and he quirked an eyebrow, “Templar magic is different. Templars focus their energy differently than mages, this I know from my Ali. Magic caused the Breach and it will be easier if you can get the mages to help. This does not mean Templars cannot help, but you will need more of them than you will mages if you must rely solely on one group or the other. I think about five templars for four mages, maybe three. The more people you have the easier it will be, this you know,” she nodded her head affirmatively. She leaned back against him and yawned, “I saw the Divine . . . and you. Something held her and you were running, . .  . there were spiders,” she shuddered. “I hate spiders.”

Cassandra leaned forward, “Did you see anything else? Anything to help us identify the monster responsible for Divine Justinia’s murder?”

Jannasilane stared at the Seeker and tried to focus her thoughts against the fatigue beginning to overwhelm her, “I am sorry. Images of many things flashed by, but I was concentrating on finding a way to close the Breach and did not have time to explore possible clues, even if I could do so. I cannot tell you if they were flashes of memories or thoughts or . . . the Fade is a tricky whore,” she ended by paraphrasing Zevran.

“That’s one way to put it,” Cullen muttered dryly while Cassandra stared at the ground in disappointment. “My lady, is there anything else you can tell us that will help us close that thing?”

“The other mage, Solas, he can tell you how many mages you will need better than I,” she stifled another yawn. “I am sorry I do not have a better answer for you, but I do not know any more on how to seal it. I’m sorry,” she repeated and yawned again. “I will think on it and if I remember anything to help you, I will tell you.”

“You’ve done plenty. I won’t lie, if you think of anything else, even better, but you’ve confirmed some things and given me information to help me decide on a course of action,” Bragaara reassured her. Janna didn’t hear her; she was fast asleep.

Cullen stood and shifted her around until she draped bonelessly against him like a tired child, “Looks like I’ll be carrying you after all,” he murmured with a smile. “Leliana, I’ve got her. I have a number of nieces and nephews I’ve carried to bed. If you will tie my cloak around us so she stays warm I can take her back to Haven.”

“Fortunately for your reputation we do not have to traverse all of Haven to get her to the Wardens’ cabin,” the bard said with a smile.

“After the drills he put them through? I doubt any of his men dare say a word,” Saykor chuckled. Cullen was already walking. The others soon caught up and exchanged ideas, theories, speculation and the occasional teasing remarks. Bragaara mostly listened; Cassandra was too caught up in her own thoughts to join in; the Wardens kept their worry to themselves while talking to the others. Whenever Jannasilane stirred, Cullen nodded to Dorian and the mage moved away so the templar could perform another cleanse.


	134. While They Were Away

Martelle was one unhappy little girl. Her mommy was gone, her father was worried, and her best friend was mad at her. Even Strake disapproved of her, and he was her bestest friend ever. All because she lied, she didn’t hate Mommy but it was too late to take it back. Pinktara was the only one who understood. Maybe Daddy did, but he was busy with Warden and rift stuff.

A month after his wife was gone Alistair woke from a fitful sleep to screaming down the hall. _“Martelle,”_ he panicked and ran to her. J-Lynn and the boys watched fearfully from the doorway.

“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” Martelle cried, “Come back, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t!”

Alistair’s heart nearly broke to hear her. He picked her up before she could hurt herself, a real possibility considering how hard she was thrashing. “Baby,” he whispered, “Martypants, your Mommy knows you love her and were just angry. She knows you didn’t mean it,” he repeated over and over until she woke up.

“I didn’t, I really didn’t, I love Mommy,” Martelle sobbed. Janice Lynette, DJ, and Lane climbed onto her bed to comfort her and Alistair wrapped them all in his arms. Martelle’s sobs subsided into sniffling hiccups and eventually they fell asleep in a giant pile.

When Janna sent a message from Highever Alistair shared it with Martelle.

_“My dearest Ali,_

_We are safe in Highever with ten, I repeat, **ten,** wagons of goods to help the refugees. Fergus and Mhairi will help safeguard them and add some of their own. I am most proud of our people’s generosity this is truth._

_Tell Martelle that I love her; she needs to hear it this is also truth. Do not forget to tell Duncan, Lane, and Janice Lynette that I love and miss them all._

_I will write when possible. The roads are still not safe for lone couriers and I cannot ask someone to risk themselves for personal reasons; just know that you are all in my thoughts and I find comfort that you are all safe. I love you, my Ali, and the family we made together. When I return I will cover you in hundreds of kisses and hug our children until they squeal._

_Love and kisses always,_

_Your Janna”_

“Feel better, my Martypants?” Alistair kissed the top of his daughter’s head. She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand and nodded. “I declare today a family day, no lessons, no Arl stuff. I’ll ask the cook to put together a basket and we’ll have a picnic in Mommy’s garden. You are also invited,” he bowed to Pinktara, Nugflutter, Crumpet, and Poorfella who woofed acceptance from where they lay in a pile by the window.

Martelle giggled for the first time in weeks, “Silly Daddy.”

“I’m hurt,” Alistair struck a dramatic pose with his hand over his face. Then he swatted her playfully on the rear, “Go tell the others. I’ll let Tina and the Professor know.” She ran off happily. He watched her go with a smile on his face, a smile that faded once she was gone. He sighed, at least one worry was off his mind, and maybe he needed a family day as much as the children did. Anders joined him on the way to the kitchen, “Did you hear from Tambra? They made it safely to Highever.”

Anders grinned, “Yep. She says she doesn’t know how long she’ll be away but Mhairi is letting her stay at Warden’s Pint, since it’s more central to her investments, whatever they are. I’m planning an extravagant and personal homecoming when she returns,” he waggled his eyebrows but Alistair’s lackluster response surprised him. “Commander, Alistair, is something wrong?”

“I’ll need to work on my poker face,” the warrior sighed. “No, not really, I just worry about my Janna. She didn’t tell me because she didn’t want me to worry, but I know her. She’s scared to her toes to face the Breach that created all these rifts. Her sensitivities? It’s going to hurt her, a lot, and I can't do anything. It might even . . . I don’t know how much, just that it’s going to be very, very bad.”

“I’m sorry, Alistair, I didn’t realize it would be so hard for her, but Poppet’s one of the toughest people I know and she’s not alone. And you didn’t tell her you knew because?”

“She’d worry more if she knew that I knew that she knew,” Alistair answered. He narrowed his eyes at the now laughing mage, “What’s so funny?”

“You two are just so cute,” Anders teased and moved away before the big warrior could respond.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“It’s not going to hurt the forest if I carefully cut down a few trees, it _is_ a bit overgrown,” Tambra was patiently explaining her plan to a Dalish clan she found near Highever Woods. Technically, nobody actually owned this area of the woods. It was too remote and too hostile for anybody to lay claim to it but that didn’t deter Hawke. It wasn’t the Bone Pit, after all. Most Fereldans prized Highever Hardwood as much as the Dalish did Ironbark. If she could come to an arrangement with the clan to harvest just a few trees she could carefully store it until she could sell it. Magic was a useful preservative.

“I will think on it,” the Keeper responded suspiciously.

“Thank you,” Tambra replied with a smile. _“This clan is even pricklier than Merrill’s, and they were harassed by Meredith’s templars,”_ she thought. She nodded respectfully and left to return to Warden’s Pint. She would only hurt her cause if she stayed. She was almost home when somebody grabbed her from behind. A mana cleanse prevented her from casting a spell.

“Forgive me, Champion, I could not risk you alerting others to my presence,” Stroud whispered in her ear. “It would be dangerous for us both.”

Tambra stopped struggling and turned around in surprise. Her eyes widened when she took note of his condition, the Warden was filthy and gaunt, worry and disappointment had etched grooves in the side of his face, “Stroud, you look terrible, what’s wrong? No one is at the Pint except me. We’ll get you to a hidden entrance I’m working on and then I’ll go in as I normally would. Food and a bath, then you can tell me how I can help.”

“Thank you, Mistress Hawke,” Jean-Marc replied. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

She regretted that she didn’t have stew simmering, but that was a waste for just one person. She sliced meat, cheese, and bread for sandwiches and thought about the Grey Warden in the other room. Stroud was not a man given to dramatics or paranoia so she worried about what he was going to tell her. His insistence that all their interactions occur in a room with no windows also concerned her, _“Maybe I should reset my wards. At least my other traps are in good order.”_ She snickered to herself, _“Nobody expects a mage to use something as simple as a snare.”_

Her mabari whined at the front door to the tavern-post. “Ok boy,” Tambra opened the door, “I doubt anybody is traveling the roads but you keep an eye out and let me know if anyone is coming. It’s getting dark and I’m going to lock the door now.” The war dog ran out in a businesslike manner and Hawke shut the door with a smile, _“There, if somebody is watching and listening, they should have no reason to suspect I’m not alone.”_ Her smile faded as she looked around the empty tavern. Slowly she began wiping down tables and closing the shutters one window at a time, all part of her normal routine. Once she was safe from potential prying eyes, she went back into the kitchen. Tambra looked at the plate of sandwich makings with dissatisfaction, _“That man looks like he hasn’t eaten properly in days. I’m not as good as Bodahn or Orana, but I can make a decent omelet. At least it will be something warm to eat.”_

Stroud felt much better after bathing. He appreciated the Champion’s forethought in providing a change of clothes belonging to the Wardens normally stationed here; when he escaped, he had to leave most of his belongings. He finished arranging his armor so it could air out just as she knocked on the door. “This is a most pleasant surprise,” he smiled when he saw the omelet. “I trust you plan on dining with me, mistress,” he gestured politely.

His stomach rumbled and Tambra laughed, “Yes, but after living with Anders I’ll fix my plate first, if you don’t mind.” Somewhat ruefully, he acknowledged her prudence and they sat down at a small table. Tambra helped herself to a small portion of the omelet as well as making a sandwich. “The Warden’s Pint is locked up and my mabari is outside scouting for potential travelers and other strangers,” she explained. While he ate, she told him about some of her endeavors, keeping a light social note to their dinner until he was ready to explain why he grabbed her in the woods.

Stroud stared at the few crumbs remaining, “Forgive my poor manners, Lady Champion, you were indeed wise to provide for yourself first.”

“Nonsense, I haven’t spent all this time with Grey Wardens without learning something. Just watching Alistair eat is an eye opener,” she waved away his concerns. Tambra set her elbows on the now empty table, and rested her chin on the pedestal of locked fingers, “Now, tell me why you couldn’t approach me more directly.”

“You must think me paranoid,” Stroud leaned back in his chair and contemplated the woman across from him. “Be wary of any Wardens you do not know personally, my friend. The situation in Orlais is much worse than I feared and I have never been known for my optimism.” Tambra raised one slender eyebrow and nodded in acknowledgment. She might even have smiled slightly at his description; it was hard to tell in the dim light. “It took time to get to Montsimmard, not only did I have to avoid mages and templars battling each other I had to avoid the combatants in Orlais’ civil war. Gaspard is making his play against his cousin for the throne.”

“Of course he is doing so _now_ ,” Tambra rolled her eyes.

Stroud smiled without humor, “Yes, it does sound like Alistair’s description of the Blight when people took advantage of its distraction and darkness for their own ends though I believe the Duke planned his move some time ago. I reached Clarel without significant incident; I was just in time, apparently. She and all her Wardens were preparing to move, I know not where. We spoke.”

“ _I hope your presence means our Fereldan brethren are on their way,” Clarel said politely, despite her obvious harried agitation. “I can delay our departure for a short while so they can join us. Our plan will be more successful with more Wardens.”_

_Stroud frowned, “Please, Commander Clarel, I beg of you to wait. We are convinced this is no true Calling but a trick, an attack. I know not how somebody accomplished this feat but if Corypheus could influence the minds of Grey Wardens then we must consider the possibility that another has learned something similar. Think, Commander, is it not odd that your newer members are affected just as much as your most senior Wardens? One who knows confirmed that we are no different than before the nightmares began, yet noted changes in our younger members as they matured into their Warden abilities. From my own experience making my way here I can tell you that my ‘Calling’ was not as strong when I was alone on the road as it was before and as it is now. Conversely, I experienced a wish, desire, dare I say compulsion to be with my fellow Wardens. I have usually enjoyed the company of my comrades but never felt a strong urge to seek it.”_

_Clarel listened; her brow became increasingly furrowed in thought. “I see. You make an interesting argument, Constable Stroud, and I will consider it carefully,” she said slowly. “Let us speak again after dinner, if you will do me the honor of joining me in my suite. I am sure you must be tired after your journey and would appreciate the opportunity to refresh yourself. I have questions and wish to put my thoughts in order first and I am sure you will be better able to answer once you have rested.”_

_“I would be honored, Warden-Commander,” Stroud bowed and retreated._

“During that time I did indeed ‘freshen up.’ I also endeavored to discover Clarel’s plans. I learned only that all the Grey Wardens in Orlais were meeting for some great purpose and that others were to join them. When I joined Clarel for dinner, she had me arrested. She was quite impervious to my arguments and said I was a traitor to the Order but that I could still have a part to play in her grand plan. A small squad of her elite and most trusted senior Wardens guarded over me while Clarel led the bulk of the Wardens to their destination. We were to follow in two days, presumably so her Wardens did not see me and ask questions. I have a reputation, one that should not lead to my arrest. A fade cloud, a rift as I now know, opened and I took advantage of its presence to escape, leaving my fellow Wardens to face the demons coming through. They took my armor and weapons from me when they arrested me, so I picked up pieces as I could. A Grey Warden’s focus is considerable; I knew they would soon be after me whether or not they killed all the demons. I have to assume they got word to Clarel and her people to watch the approaches to Amaranthine.”

Stroud got up and began to pace, “Alistair needs to know of my failure. I went to the Free Marches, hoping to throw my pursuers off track and to reach some of my old contacts. I very much fear that Commander Kevain is either in agreement with Clarel or no longer in charge. Every post or drop off I knew was either a potential trap or abandoned. If it weren’t for Isabela, I wouldn’t be this far ahead of them. She smuggled me aboard her ship and weighed anchor in a few ports, with ‘secret’ stops outside them, before dropping me off on this side of the Waking Sea. If they followed her progress, then they needed to investigate every illicit rendezvous.”

“Isabela is very adept at being sneaky,” Tambra smirked. _“And if I know my favorite pirate she offered him the ‘comforts’ of her cabin. She’s been itching to test the limits of Warden stamina.”_

“Yes,” Stroud agreed, oblivious to her speculations, “fortunately for me, you are correct. She was very accommodating and I owe her a great deal.” He began pacing, “I need to contact Alistair. You are a good friend, Champion, but I know Alistair did not give you the key to our encryption and Mhairi did not give you control over our hawks which begs the question, where are Mhairi and the Cousins who are supposed to be stationed here?” He gritted his teeth as Hawke explained.  The Cousins went to Orzammar to warn the dwarves about possible rifts in the Deep Roads and Alistair’s strategy to deal with them until the Herald could close them; there were few travelers due to the mage-templar war and the rifts so Mhairi thought her time better served organizing the teyrnir’s additions to the relief caravan. “So little girl opens herself to the Breach? And the Commander let her go?” He shook his head in exasperation, “She has great courage and the same sense of duty as a Warden to face such a danger to herself.”

“Is it really that bad?” Tambra bit her lip, startled. “She never let on once during the entire time we traveled to Highever. I only know she was determined to help if it meant fewer demons to threaten her children.”

“Ah, an argument Alistair could not counter,” Stroud sighed, “nor can I. Maker and Andraste watch over her and protect her.”

“Let it be,” Tambra murmured softly. She continued after a moment, “Mhairi didn’t want to leave the Pint completely unattended so I volunteered to stay while the Cousins were gone. This works out better for me, anyway. I go to the village every two or three days, Mhairi every day, so it will be easy enough for me to contact her. She can send your message to Alistair.” She plucked at her bottom lip, thinking, “How much time do you think you gained due to Isabela?”

The Warden stared into the fire while he calculated, “No more than three, possibly four days. They are determined and they are clever. They are also completely loyal to Clarel and will not wish to disappoint her; she has been a good Commander.”

“Until now,” Hawke frowned.

“Until now,” Stroud sighed. “Or she has chosen another’s counsel over mine, which I believe to be a mistake but does not make her a bad Commander. I got the impression, but have no evidence, that another hid from my view when they arrested me. That would explain her unexpected actions when I joined her.”

“I wish there was more time,” she complained. “I had a plan to get you out of here safely when the Cousins returned, allowing you more time to rest and recover.”

Jean-Marc was already shaking his head, “I will not endanger you any more than I have. Tonight’s rest will be enough. Knowing that Alistair will receive my information removes a burden from my mind and is all I ask.”

“Maybe we can do a little better than that. They won’t be looking for two people, will they? If Mhairi can send one of her people here, and I tell my brilliant mabari to stay and guard until I return, we can buy you some more time. How familiar are you with the hills of Crestwood?” she asked. “Zeke and I were exchanging stories one day about hiding, me from templars and he from whatever authorities or rivals were chasing his band of smugglers. There are several caves but the one I’m thinking about should be excellent for a long-term hidey-hole. We should check it out.” The two started planning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“She’s still very cold,” Cullen was concerned but he needed to return to his duties. “You’re sure all she needs is rest?” He turned the full weight of his stare on Dorian and Blaine. The others, minus Cassandra, Sera, and the Herald, waited for their reply.

“Commander,” the sparkly mage answered without his usual levity, “She needs to keep warm and sleep, maybe an occasional mana cleanse, but she will be fine. Amazing really, how quickly her body is recovering considering the severity of her reaction to the Breach. She has to recover not just physically but mentally. That’s really why she needs to rest.”

“Mouse is very strong, stronger than I think even she realizes,” Nate added. “We’ll take good care of her.”

Cullen waited until Cragen built up the fire before carefully placing her on the bed. “If you mages will step outside I’ll do another cleanse before I go.”

Jannasilane wasn’t unconscious; she felt like she was deep underwater, sometimes she moved closer to the surface only to drift back down again. During those moments, she couldn’t respond but she could hear some of what they were saying though the words were muffled and distorted.

. . . . . .

“Yo, Dimples, Lady J is still cold. If Cragen builds that fire up anymore I’m going to be one roasted dwarf.”

“Even all the blankets piled on top of her are only doing so much,” Nate said from under the covers where he was currently holding her close in an effort to warm her.

Blaine frowned; she was afraid this would happen and hoped their lady would forgive her for what she was about to suggest, “I can’t send any more heat that way without hurting one of you. The only thing left to try is skin-to-skin. I was really hoping that two Wardens surrounding her would be enough, she responds better to you than us. If you remove your shirts, I’ll remove Lady J’s clothes except for her smalls. We should respect her modesty as much as possible.”

“You sure this isn’t just a ploy to see my manly chest in all its glory?” Saykor smirked but quickly complied.

Blaine rolled her eyes and smiled, “For the sake of our lady I’ll control myself.”

“Would the two of you cut it out?” Craggy snarled from the fireplace. He stormed out saying they needed more firewood.

“What’s his problem?” the dwarf asked in surprise.

Nate and Blaine looked at each other and sighed. “Our craggy friend isn’t having any luck with the object of his unreciprocated flirtation,” the rogue replied. “That on top of worrying about Mouse . . .”

. . . . . .

“The Herald left for Redcliffe this morning. Leliana, Dorian, and some others followed separately; I think they have a plan to turn any trap around onto Alexius. If all goes well they should be back with the mages in about a week. How is Lady Plushie?” Cragen returned from the village. “Oh, the laundress didn’t charge much for doing our clothes. She said she’ll get to them later today or tomorrow, that Lady J deserves her best.”

“Our mage friend had the right idea,” Nate answered with a smile. “She feels a lot warmer and is sleeping more comfortably. I think we will soon be able to leave her to rest alone.”

Saykor shook his head and replied with a mock grumble, “Never thought being in bed half-naked for two days with a beautiful woman would be so sodding boring.”

“I’m sure the Commander will be relieved,” Blaine answered drily.

“Don’t worry Dimples, I’m saving all my best moves for you,” Saykor grinned at the mage.

“I certainly hope so,” Blaine blushed and smiled.

. . . . . .

Jannasilane slowly woke. She stretched cramped limbs and disturbed the grey kitten on top of the pillow next to her head. “Mrreow!” it protested and swiped at her nose in a huff. Annoyed blue eyes watched her warily.

“Who are you? Are you lost? You are most adorable, this is truth,” Jannasilane propped herself on her side and slowly reached out with one hand. She gently scritched it behind the ears until it started to softly purr. She looked around the empty room and frowned slightly, “I wonder how long I slept.” She shook her head and got out of bed, “No matter. First, I must get dressed and find something to eat. Then I have much to discuss with my Wardens and Cousins.” She continued chatting to the kitten, “You are such a dark, pretty grey, except for your front left paw. That is quite black, as if you dipped it into Lady Montilyet’s inkwell. Blue eyes are most unusual, or have they just not changed yet?” She opened one of the shutters to let in more light. Her stomach rumbled loudly and the kitten hissed in alarm. “Do not worry, I shall not eat you. Let us go find the others.”

Before she could bring the kitten to the table the door swung open and Nathaniel rushed in, followed closely by Cragen and Blaine. The normally reserved rogue picked her up and swung her around before embracing her in a giant bear hug, “I worried, Lady Plushie Mouse,” he whispered before setting her down. “I did not look forward to telling Alistair we lost you to the Fade.”

“None of us did,” Cragen added and pulled out a chair for her at the table. “We’ve been cooking outside in order not to disturb you. Saykor’s watching it now; I’ll tell him you’re up, I’m sure you’re hungry.” He temporarily left the cabin.

“This is truth,” she said as her stomach once again rumbled loudly. The kitten mewed loudly from the bed, demanding attention. “My new friend also wishes to eat,” Jannasilane smiled. “Where did she come from?”

“Sister Dora, she’s not sure where the mother came from but she had her litter a few weeks ago. This one is the feistiest and most independent of the lot,” Blaine brought the grey fluff to their Arlessa. “The good sister thought you might like the company of something smaller than you are,” she said with a straight face.

“Pffftt,” Jannasilane imitated Sera perfectly. The kitten leapt from Blaine’s hands, ran up Jannasilane’s shoulder, and gently patted her cheek. “See, somebody agrees with me,” she stroked the little feline.

“Good to see you awake and out of bed, Lady J,” Saykor grinned when he and Cragen brought in stew and roasted rabbits. He grinned even more when he saw her eclectic ensemble: a pair of his pants that stopped mid-calf, Nate’s shirt billowed over the waistband while it fit closely across the chest and sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and finally one of Blaine’s vests that ended below her hips. With her hair all over the place, she looked like a ragamuffin.

“I am most glad to be awake. I think I slept enough; this is truth,” she answered with a grin of her own. After they all, including the kitten, had food in front of them, she became serious. “We must speak about the temple.”

“Do you remember anything else, my lady?” Blaine asked softly.

Jannasilane thought while she ate. Finally, she answered, “Nothing that will help the Herald seal the Breach. I have told her everything I can about that. She went to Redcliffe to secure the mages, did she not?”

“Aye, Leliana, the sparkly mage you like, and many of Cullen’s men went as well. They’re going to make sure that pompous Tevinter ass doesn’t spring his trap,” the dwarf replied. “None of ‘em trust the guy. Oh, and that crazy elf and the Seeker went, too.”

“Good. I wish to speak to Fiona before we leave,” her expression didn’t bode well for the Grand Enchanter. She toyed with the little food remaining on her plate. “I did see images,” she said reluctantly. “Nothing as coherent as the memories in Kal Hirol, these were just flashes that vanished almost as quickly as they appeared. I could not even tell if they were echoes of what happened, memories from someone that had nothing to do with the Divine’s murder, or even thoughts echoing from my own mind. One face was horrible and distorted, like that of the Architect, but gone before I could tell if it was him or not. I saw people who appeared to be Grey Wardens. I could not tell what they were doing, but I don’t think it was good.”

“The Wardens have to be from something else,” Cragen frowned. “Nobody has seen any Wardens other than us and Blackwall since before the Conclave. You said you felt a lot of malice and anger, couldn’t they have distorted the images you saw?”

Jannasilane shrugged unhappily, “This I do not know, the Fade is tricky. There is something else, the red lyrium.”

Nate sighed, “We,” he indicated Saykor, “sensed it too. It feels tainted, like the Blight, but I don’t understand how that’s possible.”

“I told ya before, the Stone’s alive,” the dwarf added. “I went to the Shaperate a few times, especially before going into the Deep Roads, and none of the records mention anything about red lyrium. I wanted to know as much as possible about the sodding darkspawn and anything else we might find. I didn’t even find a hint about corrupted lyrium. The first I heard of it was from Carver when he told us about that ancient thaig. It can’t be easy to corrupt, but it looks like somebody actually found a way to grow it. Howe and I agree that we should take a small amount back to the Vigil for study. The box we asked for should be ready soon. If it’s really Blighted, our people will find out and we can tell Leliana or the Herald. We already took the precaution of telling Cullen how to handle it, as a templar he’s aware of the dangers of lyrium, adding the same precautions for handling dead darkspawn isn’t much of a stretch. He’s not a reckless kind of guy.”

“This is truth,” Jannasilane agreed. “We leave shortly after the Herald and Leliana return. That should be enough time to finish what we need to here. I will be most happy to go home, this is truth.” The others, minus Cragen, agreed. He kept his thoughts to himself.


	135. What Were You Thinking?

“Don’t go in there,” Nathaniel warned Sister Dora outside the cabin. They were a few feet away and could still hear raised voices from inside.

“I thought Janna was having tea with Fiona,” the Chantry sister frowned. “Cassandra wants the Grand Enchanter to come see her. Apparently, some of the mages are complaining to the Seeker.”

Nathaniel coughed, “It started that way, but Mouse isn’t happy with some of Fiona’s decisions. I think, well, you’re welcome to wait with me. Do you know anything about fletching arrows?” In answer, Sister Dora took a handful of arrows and began expertly repairing the feather/cloth combination the archer used. “I guess you do,” he noted.

Inside the cabin, Jannasilane was glaring at Fiona. “You talk of freedom and then pledge all the mages with you to a Tevinter magister?! Are you insane? You didn’t even call for a vote,” she yelled. Starphire meowed her agreement and stared at the mage, blue eyes full of rebuke.

Fiona glared back, “You were not there. I was their representative, their voice. We were desperate, we expected the Templars to storm the village at any moment. I was trying to prevent a massacre.”

“There weren’t enough templars to do any such thing, most of them were with the Lord Seeker, remember? You were in Val Royeaux. The only templars near Redcliffe were the zealots who were busy fighting the mage zealots. Between them, they were tearing up the Hinterlands. Arl Teagan was not unsympathetic, but you still kicked him out of his own home! How dare you? You represented the mages when you were Grand Enchanter, but still called for a vote to stay or break away completely. Yet when it comes to signing their lives to Tevinter you couldn’t be bothered.”

“I, no, we were afraid, I’m sure the templars were coming for us,” Fiona frowned and rubbed her forehead. “You are mistaken; I was not in Val Royeaux. I have not stepped foot in Orlais since we first arrived in Redcliffe.”

Jannasilane said nothing, she was too angry. She removed the kettle of boiling water from the fire and performed the rituals Josephine taught her, rinsing the teapot with hot water, carefully adding tea leaves before slowly pouring the hot water over them. She replaced the cover and wrapped it in a towel to keep it hot while the tea steeped. When the ambassador offered to teach her she only agreed to be polite, that and she had nothing better to do while she waited for the Herald to return from Redcliffe. To her surprise, she enjoyed the ceremony and Josephine’s preferred blend. So much so that she asked Josephine how she could arrange for a tea service and a selection of teas be sent to her in Amaranthine. She felt calmer when she turned her attention back to the Grand Enchanter.

“Lady Montilyet showed me how to make tea the way they do in Antiva,” she said, confusing Fiona with her change in subject. “In Antiva, women technically do not fight or run a business; those are considered very unfeminine pursuits. The ritual of preparing and offering tea is a way to conduct a business meeting while appearing to follow the feminine ideal. All women from the poorest washerwoman with tin mugs to the richest noble with the most delicate china participate. It is a sign of national pride. Indeed, in some circles refusing an offered cup insults your host and marks you as quite gauche. I think that is the word the ambassador used.”

“I never heard that,” Fiona said cautiously.

“Neither had I,” Jannasilane replied with a shrug. “Perhaps it is an unwritten convention, perhaps the Inquisition’s ambassador exaggerated. You do not believe you were not in Val Royeaux, this is truth,” she confused Fiona once again.

“How can you know that?” the elven mage was getting annoyed again.

“I sensed both lies and truth in your words, I did not understand at first how that could be.”

Fiona’s shoulders sagged, “I wish you were wrong. I don’t remember being in Val Royeaux; indeed I don’t believe I was, but when the Herald told me she spoke to me a part of me wondered . . . some things are fuzzy. I don’t like it; it’s not good for a mage’s mind to be so unclear.”

“Could it be blood magic? We spoke to many people in Redcliffe; a surprising number of Tevinter mages arrived ahead of Alexius.”

“Blood magic? Before I became Grand Enchanter, I was a Grey Warden, with all that experience I think I would know, but maybe. There are other magics, however, for a short time, I do not know that I wouldn’t prefer blood magic,” Fiona grimaced. “As far as not asking for a vote, you are right. I should have and I don’t understand why I didn’t. I have a feeling that Tevinter magisters have a much greater understanding of blood magic and its subtle uses than we do here in the south. I was not happy to make an agreement with Alexius, but my memory is clear.”

Jannasilane stared at Fiona thoughtfully, “Perhaps it was no longer needed? You say you believed you had no other choice. That was not truth but you thought it was. I did not sense blood magic at work when we saw you.”

“Meaning I was manipulated, as were others, long before Alexius showed up so conveniently,” Fiona answered bitterly. She wrapped her hands around the cup of tea placed in front of her, “How could I be such a fool?”

“This was a plan long in the making. This so-called Elder One,” Jannasilane sniffed at the title, “he must be insane as well as powerful. What normal person wishes to create a demon army? Does he really think he can control it once he creates it? Or does he even care?”

“Maybe that’s why he wanted us,” Fiona mused, still bitter at her own stupidity. “I am surprised the Herald offered us refuge as partners, after we, I, was so foolish. At least closing the Breach tomorrow will undo some of what I did.”

Somebody knocked at the door and Sister Dora opened it, “Is it safe to come in?”

Jannasilane snickered, “I think we are done yelling at each other.”

“I came with a message,” Dora sat down. “Grand Enchanter, Seeker Cassandra wishes you to come see her when you have a moment. I think some of your mages have been making demands.

“Oh,” Fiona sighed, “they need to remember they are not in a Circle where everything was provided for them. We don’t need any more trouble. I better find out how difficult they’re being,” she stood. “I am glad we had this talk. Sister, my lady,” she moved towards the door.

“Are you still planning to return to your ‘most handsome Ali’ and your ‘most wonderful children’ immediately after the Herald seals the Breach?” Dora teased. “Or will you wait a few days?”

“Children? You and Alistair have children?” Fiona turned around in shock. “That means I’m a gr-,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

“What do you mean?” Jannasilane demanded even as she moved to the elf’s side where Fiona was gripping the door tightly. She and Dora helped Fiona back to her chair before Dora discreetly left the two of them.

“Nothing, nothing,” Fiona insisted. “I was merely surprised to hear that you had a family. It is unlikely for a Warden.”

“You lie,” Jannasilane was blunt. “What do our children have to do with you?”

Fiona stiffened, “Why would I lie?”  


“I don’t know, but you are. You started to say you were a gr . . . . andmother,” Jannasilane filled in the blank on a whisper.

“Of course not,” Fiona blustered. She tried to look the younger woman in the eye but couldn’t maintain her gaze into the whirling orbs.

Jannasilane ignored her protests, “My Ali thought his mother died giving birth to him. Growing up he dreamed he was part of a real family who loved him instead of being the king’s unwanted bastard living in the stables.”

Her words shook Fiona but the elf refused to admit the truth.

Jannasilane sensed weakness and pressed. “After he became a Grey Warden he looked for more about his mother and found out he had a sister in Denerim. He wanted to meet her and warn her about the coming Blight. That miserable shrew accused him of murdering their mother and then demanded money from him.” Even now her lip curled at the memory. “He was so hurt; this warm, generous, compassionate man who desperately wanted a family to love and care for.”

“Stop,” Fiona bowed her head, “yes, it’s true, I’m his mother. However, it’s not true that nobody wanted him. I met Maric when I was a Grey Warden, I can’t tell you about the mission. I was a bitter woman who had no use for nobles but Maric was . . . special,” her voice softened on the last word. She shook her head, “We became close and I became pregnant, though we separated before I realized it. Maric didn’t know about our child until I came to Denerim with Duncan, he was my friend and Maric’s too. Alistair was just a tiny baby.”

Fiona smiled at the memory, then her smile dimmed, “I was still a Grey Warden. You weren’t’ there, but Weisshaupt was not a place to raise a baby any more then than it was when the First took Alistair. Maric was thrilled. I was surprised actually; he was king and had an heir. I think he would have taken Alistair in, but I begged him not to. I begged him to make sure Alistair had a normal life away from court.”

“Would that have been so bad?”

“Don’t be naïve. First, he was a bastard. Just because his father was king didn’t mean people wouldn’t whisper and say things to hurt him. Maric was different, but I’ve seen nothing in all my years to improve my opinion of nobles in general. Some might try to use him but they would never accept him, not the illegitimate son of a Grey Warden, an elf, and a mage. I don’t know which is more damning,” she sneered, “Remember Loghain?” She looked down at her trembling hands, “I thought he would have a better life, maybe adopted by a childless couple or somebody far away from court. It wouldn’t have worked, would it? He looks too much like his father. But the stables? I expected better from Maric,” she tangled her fingers together to keep them still.

“To be fair, the stables were warm and dry; stable boy was camouflage to protect both him and Maric. I am not sure how much Maric knew or what he could have done by that time. You need to tell my Ali the truth; he deserves to know who his mother really is,” Jannasilane was implacable.

“Why? He is the Arl of Amaranthine; do you really think others in the Bannorn wouldn’t hesitate to use this information against him? I may not be a Grey Warden any longer but I will always be an elf and a mage; he will always be illegitimate,” Fiona couldn’t bring herself to call her son a bastard.

“This is truth,” Jannasilane admitted. “However, they would have to be willing to go against their Majesties, Teyrn Cousland, Arl Eamon, and Arl Teagan among others. Also, you must realize that the Warden Commander of Ferelden is the Arl of Amaranthine, not Alistair Theirin. If my Ali thinks his leadership is a liability, he will resign and just be a Grey Warden. Knowing his mother or being Arl, this choice he would make without hesitation.”

“Will you tell him if I do not?”

Jannasilane frowned, “I . . . do not know. If I tell him and you never contact him he will believe you are rejecting him, that you never wanted him. Nothing I say will change that, this is truth. If he senses I am keeping a secret from him, when we have no secrets, he will be hurt. This is also truth.”

“I never wanted to hurt Alistair, you must believe me,” Fiona insisted. She stared at the younger woman, “You know the truth in my words, I don’t know how. The only way not to hurt him now is for me to tell him the truth, isn’t it? I really don’t have a choice; the only decision I have to make is how to tell him. Can we talk again before you leave? I, I need to think.” She left quickly, for once eagerly anticipating her meeting with the Seeker.

Jannasilane and Starphire looked at each other after the Grand Enchanter left. Finally, Jannasilane sighed, “Was I right to force her to tell me, my friend? My Ali was so hurt when his ‘sister’ turned against him so strongly. I cannot discuss this with any but you. If she does not choose to reveal herself, I do not know; this is truth. At least she probably will not visit all the time,” Jannasilane rolled her eyes; she didn’t look forward to that possibility. Starphire padded over and rubbed against Janna’s feet where they didn’t quite meet the floor until Janna picked her up and rubbed her nose in the soft fur. “I cannot wait to go home, my Ali and my children are so much in my thoughts and dreams it is hard to not jump out of my skin. To come this far and be away this long, I wish to tell them I saw the Breach disappear. For this I can wait until after tomorrow to leave, Maker, grant me patience.”

She decided to go for a walk and clear her head. She picked up Starphire and put her in her special pouch, “Might as well try it out now while we there’s time to adjust it. Once we leave it will be weeks before we get home.” Nobody was outside the cabin so she wandered towards the village. Cullen was busy and Cassandra was effectively dismembering straw targets, not that she had any desire to seek the Seeker’s company. “I hope those are not me,” she whispered to her feline companion. “I could find Lady Montilyet, but I’m sure she’s busy and I would have to force myself to not stick my tongue out at Vivienne on the way. Leli is also very busy trying to find out more of the Elder One’s plans. Varric, no,” she decided, “I do not feel like going to the tavern. I don’t really want to talk to anybody. I want,” she saw Blackwall talking to the Iron Bull and Krem; “I want to hit somebody. Not you,” Jannasilane reassured the small kitten.

“Krem,” she approached the three warriors.

“My lady,” Krem bowed slightly, “I’m glad to see you haven’t ‘faded away.’”

“Hey, Krem,” Bull protested, “I’m the boss, I make all the jokes.”

“Sorry Chief,” the Tevinter didn’t look at all repentant.

Jannasilane grinned, knowing the Qunari was a spy made her uncomfortable although she did wonder if he knew Sten/Arishok. “ _Probably not_ ,” she decided. She did like his Tevinter second-in-command, “I was hoping you’d spar with me. I feel itchy.”

“Are you sure you should be sparring so soon my lady?” Blackwall asked.

“I need to, I think. I feel itchy,” she repeated and shrugged.

“Well, it it’s a workout you’re looking for, I’m your man. I love to hit things,” the Qunari asserted looking down at her with his good eye.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Jannasilane smiled at him for the first time. “I know how delicate you Qunari are.” Behind his leader, Krem choked on laughter and grinned.

“You’re just trying to provoke me,” Bull laughed. “This should be fun, and short.”

Jannasilane narrowed her eyes at him, “I am not little and I asked Krem. However, if Krem agrees and you insist we should go to the other side of the pond where the druffalo roam or my friends will try to stop me.”

“I’ll defer to the Chief, if I don’t he’ll sulk,” Krem agreed.

“Watch it, Krem de la Krem.”

Krem sighed, “He loves that one.”

“This is gonna be fun. You’ll want to get some armor on. There’s a logging site out there nobody’s using, it’ll be a good place to go at each other. I’ll be waiting,” the Qunari chuckled and moved off with Krem following.

Blackwall sighed and shook his head, “If you’re determined to do this Gracie, I’ll go with you.”

“I appreciate your concern Blackwall,” Jannasilane nodded her head for emphasis, “but I need to _do_ something. I feel -”

“- itchy. I know lass, when I was younger I felt the same after being cooped up for a few days.”

“Yes, there is much to do at the Vigil between the children, my garden, the Wardens, and my duties as Arlessa,” she made a slight face, thinking of Vivienne. “I do not have much time to be bored, this is truth.”

“Tell me about Amaranthine, I’ve never been to that area of Ferelden. Been to Denerim, some small farms bordering the Brecelian forest, but most of my time has been to the south and west of the Bannorn.”

“There are many different areas from the Blackmarsh to farmlands. Vigil’s Keep is very old, a thousand years or more, I think,” she began. She was starting to like Blackwall and hoped she wouldn't regret her earlier decision. He was older than most recruits were but given the life span of a Grey Warden, he was still young enough to give service. It wasn’t far to the site where she was meeting the spynari, as she sometimes called Iron Bull in her head, and she spoke of her home during the entire walk except when she briefly entered her cabin to change into her armor.

“I was beginning to think I’d have to spar with Krem,” Iron Bull greeted her. “I’m tired of beating up on him.”

“My armor is always a little tighter after somebody cleans it so it took a little longer than usual,” she explained without apology.

“It makes your rack look good, and you got a great one, so I’m not complaining,” he leered good-naturedly. Blackwall shook his head in annoyance but knew it was no good remonstrating with him. Janna said nothing. She tilted her head and looked at him; her eyes whirled slowly as she studied him. Iron Bull forced himself to remain relaxed, something about the way she seemed to see into him, _“She’s like one of the tamassrans when they evaluate you for your role or if you need to be re-educated. Kind of spooky.”_ He shook himself mentally and flexed his bicep, “Like what you see, little Wildling?”

 “No,” she answered him literally. His jaw dropped and Krem and Blackwall looked startled. “I do not trust you. I do not like the Qun, it goes too far, and you spy for them. I will be very angry if you do something to hurt my Leli, this is truth.” She thought a moment and then added her biggest indictment, “You would never make good Wardens.”

“Hey, I like redheads. Red looks over all my reports before I send them on. We don’t like all this demon crap, and the Inquisition is the only group doing anything about it. I can’t speak for afterwards, but for now I’m more liaison than spy.” He didn’t let on he was insulted and watched her steadily to see if she believed him. It was the truth, at least until he got other orders. “I thought you wanted to hit something?”

Janna blinked, “I am ready to spar if you are.” Soon they were circling each other, rather, she circled and he pivoted with his maul in his hands. Finally, she made the first move, feinting to his blind side only to attack his good one.

“Alright! Game ON!” he shouted happily.

A short time later Nathaniel and Cragen headed toward their cabin looking for Jannasilane. “It was nice of Lady Montilyet to give these sketches to Lady J by way of thanks,” Cragen referred to the carefully rolled and wrapped parchments they carried.

“Nothing gets by Leliana,” Nathaniel shook his head in amusement. “She suggested it. I admit I’m curious after the number of times I’ve heard about the Urn. I’m glad they included some of the sketches of how the temple looked before they started any work. Our favorite bard says they are very close to what they found during the Blight.”

“Too bad an artist didn’t travel with them, the Vigil could have a permanent display chronicling their journey,” Cragen said with his tongue firmly in cheek.

“Craggy, you jest, but that would actually be kind of nice. It would also be a nice reminder to some of our visitors of what Alistair did for them. It doesn’t take long for people to start asking, ‘What have you done for me lately?’” He opened the door to the cabin and saw a disgruntled kitten.

Starphire greeted them with an annoyed, and loud, “Mree-EOW.”

“Lady J was here, she always carries Starphire with her,” Cragen frowned.

“This probably means she’s doing something we wouldn’t approve.” Nathaniel looked at the kitten in contemplation, “Do you know where our lady is?”

“Meow,” Starphire purred.

Feeling a little foolish, the rogue picked up the kitten and the two men followed her ‘directions’, accomplished with a series of hisses and purrs. _“If Anders could see me now,”_ he snickered to himself, thinking of Ser Pounce-a-lot. All amusement fled when they reached the logging site. “STOP!” he commanded.

Cragen tackled Jannasilane and rolled them away from the Iron Bull. When they got to their feet, she pulled away from his grasp and crossed her arms, glaring at the two of them. Nathaniel put down Starphire and strode toward his mistress, “What were you thinking?” he demanded. “We’re leaving in two days, you were hurt and took three days to recover, and now you’re trying to get hurt again.”

“We were _sparring_ ,” she answered him with a frown of her own. She sighed, “I felt itchy.” Nathaniel lifted one eyebrow in silent query, relieved when she shook her head slightly.

“Hey, could somebody get this little fiend off me?” Iron Bull complained. The minute he set her down, Starphire ran to the large Qunari and climbed up his armor until she was sitting on his shoulder. She boxed one ear and scrambled to the other, hissing her anger and boxing the other. He tried to grab her but she was too fast and agile and he didn’t want to hurt her.

Everybody turned to look at him, surprised into silence at the spectacle. “Sure thing, Chief,” Krem responded with a twinkle in his eye. He tried his best but was no more successful than his boss was.

Jannasilane shook her head, amused now, and walked over to the Qunari, “Lean down.” He did so and she held her hands out to the kitten, “Enough Starphire. He did nothing wrong,” she waited for the young feline to leap into her arms. Starphire did so, but scratched her on the chin in rebuke. “There is nothing wrong with sparring,” she said in exasperation. “If you are angry that I left you in the cabin, too bad. I did not wish you to be hurt.” She held the kitten in her arms, stroking it until she was purring.

“I have healing potions with me,” Blackwall informed the men from Amaranthine. “I stood ready to interfere in case she was in danger of serious injury.”

“Me too,” Krem agreed. “I have to look out for the Chief.”

“Thanks, Krem,” the Qunari answered sarcastically.

Nate nodded to Blackwall, “I’m glad somebody was thinking sensibly. However, _she_ knows Alistair insists on a healer being present at all times when his people are training or sparring. He urges them to test their limits, short of deadly blows, but takes precautions. It also gives our healers the opportunity to practice monitoring their fellows during battle and healing without exhausting their mana.”

“Makes sense,” the Iron Bull thought about Dalish. She wasn’t the best healer, but if she could get better with practice . . .

Jannasilane’s shoulders sagged, “I’m sorry, my Nate. I just needed to _do_ something,” she added plaintively.

“Gracie is eager to go home,” Blackwall added helpfully.

Nathaniel gently tucked her hair behind her ears and placed his hands on her shoulders, “We all are, Mouse.” Then he grinned, “Since you are so eager to ‘ _do_ something’ you can practice your archery.”

Cragen laughed at the look on her face but the others looked confused. “Why?” Blackwall asked. “It’s not a bad idea, mind, but most melee fighters don’t use the bow.”

Jannasilane wrinkled her nose and answered, “There were never more than ten of us together during the Blight before the Landsmeet. Our enemies usually outnumbered us, by either one large group or several smaller ones. My Blake insisted we all learn ranged tactics to minimize the risks. My Ali continues that training with all our troops, soldiers and Grey Wardens both. He also makes our mages learn how to use daggers or a small shield and short blade. I am not very good.”

“Only because you lack patience,” the rogue answered with a snort. “You don’t need to become expert, just adequate. And since you have all this time and energy you can practice.”

“I hate you,” she grumbled.

“Uh huh, Cragen’s going to set up some targets while I get your bow. You are doing this,” he warned.

“Chief, I’d like to stay and pick up some pointers. You know I’ve been eager to learn,” Krem reminded his boss. Iron Bull agreed and left them to it.

“I’ll be glad to get you started,” Nate offered. He always enjoyed introducing people to the art, “I can borrow a couple of bows I think would be good for you when I get Mouse’s.”

Blackwall grunted, “I wouldn’t mind giving it a try, myself.” Nate nodded and suggested a crossbow might suit him better. With only a few minor interruptions, that’s how the group spent the rest of the afternoon.


	136. The Breach and What Came Next

Early the next morning the mages, accompanied by Cullen and Inquisition forces followed the Herald to the ruined temple and the Breach. The refugees and townspeople gathered to watch, cheers and prayers falling from their lips in equal measure. “Few understand the weight the Herald carries on her shoulders,” Jannasilane murmured to Starphire. They were sitting at the very top of the Chantry; Jannasilane could see most of the path to the temple from that vantage point. “I remember my Ali and my Blake, knowing they were the only ones available to save the world was a most difficult burden. Fortunately for Thedas I think Lady Adaar is as strong as they were and are.” She stroked the kittens fur, “You fit most well in this harness, Starphire; it is like the one I have for my Nugflutter. Although, when that Vivienne saw you poking your head out and hissing at her, I very much wanted to laugh.”

She stayed until the Breach was closed, sometimes talking to Starphire, sometimes silent. Nathaniel, the only one who shared her fondness for heights, joined her for a time. “I will be glad to leave, my lady,” the rogue admitted. “Now that we have done what we came to do, I fear we are more burden than aid. Haven strains to accommodate the number of people here.”

“This is truth,” the Arlessa sighed. “Tomorrow morning cannot come soon enough, but I promised Leli we would wait. I am not sure if she does not trust Solas or merely wants confirmation that the Breach is completely sealed. Is the red lyrium safe?”

“Saykor has it now. We decided that one of us would always carry it; we don’t need somebody with more curiosity or greed than wit finding it.”

“Most wise, I think, my Nate. There, the mages begin, I can feel a difference,” she gripped Nathaniel’s forearm and held her breath. Together they watched the green column fluctuate then flow back into the sky until all that remained was a green scar. The two friends hugged each other, “She did it! The air is much clearer and purer.”

“The townspeople are already celebrating,” Nathaniel grinned and pointed. He saluted in the direction of the temple and together they left to rejoice with everybody else.

Casks lined the low wall opposite Seggrit’s small shop for easy access, musicians (including would-be musicians) played what instruments they could find, and people danced into the night. Saykor and Blaine danced around the edges with a few departures into the shadows. The Iron Bull celebrated by picking up Jannasilane and tossing her into the air and catching her, time and again, to Sera’s giggling delight and shouts of ‘higher, higher’. He finally stopped when Starphire managed to leap from her pouch onto his shoulder and began scratching him.

Blackwall chuckled into his ale when she scolded the Qunari warrior, “Here lass, you can share this bit of wall with me till you’re steady on your feet again. I promise not to chuck you into the air like a child’s toy.”

“It is good people have this moment,” Jannasilane nodded her head for emphasis. “Tomorrow is early enough to begin the more difficult work of finding this ‘Elder One,’” she sniffed and rolled her eyes.

“You’re really leaving, then? I’m sure the Inquisition could use you.”

“I did what I came to do, though I do not know I provided much assistance. It is time to return to my family as I promised.”

“Safe journeys to you, my lady. I hope to see you in Amaranthine when this is all over,” he bowed slightly.

“Good luck to you, Blackwall, I think – what?” both fighters immediately turned when warning bells rang across Haven.

They followed the Herald and the Seeker to the front gates where Cullen was directing his men, “You, you, and you,” he pointed to three of his sergeants, “get your teams together and make sure those trebuchets are ready when I give the signal.”

“What colors march on us?” Josephine asked the question for them all.

“None,” Cullen replied tersely. “This won’t be easy. Haven is no fortress, we must control the battlefield.” Pounding on the gates interrupted him.

“Let me in, I can’t help if you don’t let me in,” somebody pounded on the gates again. The Herald rushed to remove the bar. The heavy gates swung open to reveal a templar, rather the end of a templar. The body fell and a young man of about twenty stood alone with a dagger in his hand. He had eyes only for the Herald, “The templars come, but I suppose you know that already. The Elder One is mad you took his mages, he comes for you,” he pointed to a ridge where the enemy Commander stood next to the Elder One.

“So this is how the order responds,” Cullen sneered, “I recognize the man leading them, a disgrace from Kirkwall, Samson.”

“Corypheus!” Varric whispered in shock, though few heard him.

“Control the battlefield!” Cullen yelled again and directed his men. “Use everything you got! Mages, you have leave to engage! We fight for the Inquisition, for the Herald, for our lives!”

Blaine, to Vivienne’s chagrin, was directing the mages, “Healers, half of you head to the Chantry . . . the injured can find you there. The remaining Healers stay to the rear and buff our soldiers. Any mages with good distance and area of effect spells join the archers. We want to take them out before they get close. The rest of you split into small groups, I want at least one group at each trebuchet. Some of the enemy is already too close. We want no friendly fire so be mindful of your surroundings and the Inquisition forces. Your job will be to supplement any melee and to provide cover for the injured. Mages, disperse!”

“I do love a fine-figured take charge kind of woman,” Saykor growled with a grin, taking down two with his crossbow. “Five.”

“Seven,” Nate responded.

“Show offs,” Craggy grunted.

“You’re a little late to the party, Mouse,” Nathaniel noted even as he notched another arrow.

She sniffed, “I took Starphire to the Chantry. Battle is no place for a kitten.”

“Janna!” the Herald yelled, “you and your men concentrate on the other side of the Chantry. Make sure nobody gets by you, we’ll concentrate on the trebuchets.” Bragaara’s plan worked and they stopped the enemy’s progress. Their satisfaction was short-lived, however, when a high dragon attacked them, spitting flames of red lyrium and forcing them all to run for safety within the Chantry’s thick walls.

“Herald, that dragon regained them ground you caused them to lose. We won’t be able to stop them; we can only control how spitefully we end this. We still have trebuchets; if we aim at the mountain we can bury them,” Cullen told her grimly.

“And bury Haven, this Chantry, and us with it,” Dorian grumbled.

“We have no choice,” Cullen began but Chancellor Roderick interrupted him.

“Wait, there is a hidden passage. I followed it on a whim and now I’m the only one left to remember. Is it fate or something else? I don’t know, but our people can escape if we have a little time.”

Cullen became even grimmer when he spoke to Bragaara, “This thing wants _you_. You’ll have to gain its attention and give us the time we need to evacuate.”

Bragaara answered just as grimly, “I know.”

“Maybe you’ll find a way,” Cullen responded with doubtful hope.


	137. One Step Forward

Determination . . .

Challenge . . .

Exhaustion . . .

Courage . . .

Sacrifice . . .

One step forward . . .

She was tired, so very, very tired. Every part of her body ached. This dragon was faster and more agile than she expected, causing her to contort her body in unexpected ways to avoid the red lyrium. It didn't help when she couldn't evade its scaly tail. _“If I had known I would be fighting a dragon in this fashion I would have trained more as a griffon,”_ Jannasilane thought darkly. Visions of her beloved Ali and their children steeled her will.

It was hard, trying to dodge the dragon and watch the terrain below. Jannasilane knew that, at best, she only had enough strength to draw the dragon one more time. If she was to have any chance to survive, she needed to choose her ground carefully. _“I will attack with the last of my strength but is it selfish of me that I do not wish to die? Andraste, if you hear me, please give me a chance to see my loved ones again.”_ Maybe the Maker’s bride heard her, maybe it was mere coincidence, but she found what she was looking for: an opening in the trees with a cave on the other side. If she lured the dragon closer, she could crash through the brush in front of the cave entrance. Once she shifted back to her normal form, the dragon’s breath wouldn’t be able to reach her in the back of the cave.

The dragon was starting to pull back, its master’s call reaching through its fury. Jannasilane once again faced it and taunted, flying towards it in challenge as she had done so many times before but this time the dragon resisted. She could only think of one thing to do, she let her wings stutter in flight as if she was weakening and hoped the beast’s bloodlust would rise in triumph. “ _Maker, guide me, help the Herald, protect my Ali,”_ she thought as she veered away with an apparent touch of uncertainty. She could sense the dragon’s renewed interest and dipped for just a moment. That sign of weakness clinched it and the dragon began chasing her with fresh vigor.

Jannasilane barely dodged the first stream. Soon she could hardly hear the dragon’s roar over her labored breathing and thundering heart. She wrenched her left wing trying to avoid another blast and couldn’t suppress a squawk when she felt searing pain in her hind leg. The dragon heard her and redoubled its efforts. Jannasilane dove through the trees, counting on them to slow the beast on her tail. She reached the cave, really an overhang, and pressed as far into the back as possible. She could feel the red lyrium burn pulsing; some instinct warned her not to shift. It took all her will not to move or make a sound. She didn’t have enough left to do anything else even though it grated on her nerves when she heard the dragon roar in triumph. She permitted herself a small sigh when she heard it flying away. _“I hope it was enough,”_ her tail flicked unhappily.

An hour later, a large dark shape was moving through the night shadows. It didn’t move gracefully, it moved with an obvious limp, but the denizens of the forest left it alone. Did they sense the specialness of it? Did its size intimidate them? Jannasilane didn’t care, she was just grateful. She decided to stay in her griffon form until she was close to Redcliffe. She couldn’t move fast and knew that if she were in her normal form she would never make it. She couldn’t even completely furl her wrenched wing. She stayed near the road, hiding when she sensed other travelers. _“At least if I die my Wardens will find it easier to find me,”_ she smiled with unusual gallows humor.

Take one step forward. Push back the pain. Take another step. Try to lift her injured wing off the ground. Watch for travelers. Rest a moment. Repeat.


	138. Spirits or Delirium?

Alistair was sweating and sore. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” he glared at Oghren.

“Heh heh heh,” Oghren smirked and belched. “Your decision, pike-twirler; I’m just happy to oblige.”

Thanks to the rifts, Alistair actually had more free time than in all the years since he became Arl-Commander. The nobles didn’t stray far from their homes, since rifts were everywhere they couldn’t escape the problem if they wanted. When he received Nate’s message about feeling the false Calling less away from his fellows he immediately began testing the theory. He sent squads composed of six Cousins and two Wardens to patrol different areas of the Arling with one Cousin in command of each squad. Their orders were to stay away from the Vigil for at least three days unless the Cousins noted erratic behavior or deterioration in the Wardens. With the hope that they could resume their normal duties soon the Wardens felt less tension. Less tension and fewer people meant fewer disagreements for him to resolve. To keep his mind off his beloved he decided to begin training with weapons other than his preferred sword and shield. Today was maul day.

“Well,” he picked up the maul again and set it on his back, “one thing about the maul, I can really do some damage.”

“Yeah, and even to somebody else _if_ ya ever get the hang of it,” Oghren snorted. In his attempts to remove and replace the heavy maul from his back, Alistair managed to hit himself more than once. “At least it’s early enough that only a few people can see their Commander bonk himself on the head.”

“Hey, I haven’t done that,” Alistair protested, _“at least, not yet.”_

“Commander, Arl-Commander,” Alan, who completed his Joining five years ago, raced to the training ring clutching a piece of paper. “Urgent message for you, sir, from Lothering. For your eyes only,” he added solemnly and waited for orders.

“Probably not darkspawn, then,” Alistair replied and began deciphering the code with foreboding.

Varel wrote, _“Commander, Arl Teagan came. Grim. Lady Jannasilane in Redcliffe Castle. Needs healers urgently.”_

Oghren and Alan watched the Commander worriedly; his face had gone from ruddy with exertion to pale as a ghost. Neither man said anything, but they knew only one thing would cause the large warrior such distress: something was wrong with the Arlessa.

“I’m goin’ with ya,” Oghren growled and planted himself firmly in front of the templar. “Whatever is wrong with Cherryplum, you need me at your back in case you get distracted. I don’t care if somebody has to tie me to one of them flea-bitten nags.”

“Of course,” Alistair appreciated the dwarf’s dedication and heart, “We leave in an hour.”

Oghren grunted, “Cherryplum’s tough, if she can survive the Archdemon she can survive this.” With a tip of his helmet, he swaggered off, acknowledging Alistair’s whispered ‘thanks’ with a brief salute.

Riding away, Alistair kept seeing the expression on Martelle’s face when he told them he had to leave for a few days. _“I’m not sure, but I think she knows I didn’t tell them the complete truth. I couldn’t tell them their mother was in Redcliffe, not when I don’t know what I’ll find when I get there. What if . . .”_ he refused to finish the thought. They were riding hard, Zeke’s rejuvenation spells allowed them to cut days off their time.

Nobody complained about the hard ride. Some, like Anders, were particularly stricken, but none of them wanted to envision a future without Jannasilane returning to the Vigil. Alistair had their respect and their admiration; he was the mind and soul of Vigil’s Keep. She was the heart. Anders reminded them, “Poppet’s strong. And I,” he sighed ruefully, “I am going to wish I brought a pillow. My backside is going to curse me before we arrive.” His companions appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood.

Her pain called to him and he wanted to help but didn’t know how. Another came to him and said that together they could help the Griffonsong. He was relieved and began traveling to her, moving quickly without notice. _“Redcliffe Castle is different from the Herald’s memories. I’m glad, I didn’t like that other castle,”_ Cole followed a maid to the rooms with the Wardens.

“Dimples is wearing herself out trying to keep Cherryplum’s fever down,” Saykor grunted. “The Commander can’t get here fast enough with Anders. Even cool cloths seem to hurt her.”

“I know. I cringe with every stroke, knowing I’m adding to her pain, but Maker’s breath, she’s hotter than Wade’s forge,” Nathaniel sighed. “I’d put her in a cold bath if I could but her injury makes that impossible. She senses Starphire, that kitten calms her somehow.”

“If we were still in Haven we could create a bed out of snow,” Craven came out of the bedroom with an empty bowl and almost dry cloths.

“Craggy, you just gave me an idea,” Saykor leapt up and hurried into the bedroom where Blaine tended their injured lady. “Dimples,” he began massaging her tired shoulders, “can you make ice?” Blaine turned her head to stare at the dwarf as if to reassure herself he still had only one head. He quickly explained, “If Lady J was lying on a bed of ice, would that help bring her fever down?”

“If the shock didn’t kill her first, then yes it could. What’s in that pretty dwarven head of yours?” Saykor explained his idea. Blaine thought about it and slowly smiled, “That’s a brilliant idea. It also means I’ll be able to use my mana more effectively.” He rushed off to find Teagan and she turned her attention back to her patient with renewed energy.

Cole waited in the shadows until the dwarf left. The kitten watched him approach with unblinking blue eyes. The boy spirit cast a veil between him and the mage so she wouldn’t see or hear him. “I came to help. I _want_ to help. _We_ want to help. Her pain echoes throughout the Fade. Demons want to come but friends guard so they can’t.”

“Cole?” Jannasilane turned bleary, pain-filled eyes at the boy, “The Herald . . . ?”

“She is safe. Many died but the others are safe. Now we are here to help,” Cole explained quietly. Starphire seemed to agree because she backed away and settled on the other side of her mistress, nuzzling her cheek and purring.

“Compassion and Valor brought me here,” a new voice explained. The powerful, resonant voice agitated the woman on the bed.

“Justice?” Jannasilane shrank away from him.

Blaine chewed her lip, _“Saykor better hurry, now she’s delirious.”_ She tried to soothe her mistress, “Justice will be done, my lady. Haven will be avenged. Now, you need to concentrate on getting better, Arl Teagan sent a message to the Commander. Your Ali will be here in a few days, rest now.”

“He’s here to help, to explain,” Cole softly replied. “I am helping him.”

“Yes,” Cole/Justice lowered his voice. “I did a great wrong, my actions were not just. I realize this now.”

“Possession . . .”

“No.” Justice was emphatic, “That would be unjust. No, this is a temporary sharing with Compassion, Wisdom and Learning. I and the other spirits in the Fade saw the twisted creature that attacked Haven and the high dragon it corrupted. Your actions honored Valor. I found Wisdom; you lack important knowledge about the Griffonsong. Learning will help you and then you will be able to heal.”

Starphire butted her head, encouraging her to accept the spirit’s words.

Another voice spoke through Cole, a feminine voice that reminded her of Wynne, “Young Griffonsong, do you know how an oyster creates pearls?” Jannasilane nodded her head, a slight smile on her lips because when she and Alistair married Isolde described the process in great and mostly accurate detail. “Good,” Wisdom intoned. “They may be natural enemies but dragons and griffons share a similar ability regarding the taint of the Blight. As do Griffonsong whose shape shifting abilities are fully developed. Fortunately, you suffered your injury while a griffon and instinct started the process, protecting you even now from some of the effects of your wound. The Elder One, who wishes to be a god, infected lyrium with the Blight taint in such a way to intertwine them completely. While this means that red lyrium cannot be cleansed, it does mean that protecting yourself from the Blight also protects you from the lyrium. I must warn you, that you have no safeguards against proper lyrium.”

“How?” Jannasilane whispered tiredly.

Blaine thought she was merely slow to respond to her previous statement, “The Arl rode to Lothering shortly after we arrived early this morning. We weren’t far behind you. Seneschal Varel can send messenger hawks to Vigil’s Keep.”

Cole placed his fingertips on her forehead per Wisdom’s direction, “Calm your mind so Learning can show you.”

Jannasilane, with Cole’s help, relaxed so she could better concentrate. Learning spoke for the first time, her voice softer and more removed than Wisdom’s, a ‘Fadier’ voice. “Think about what it feels like to be a griffon. Remember flying through the air. Compassion will take away some of the pain so you can remember how your body reacted to the red lyrium. We will help guide you. Do you remember?”

“Ye-es,” she answered slowly. “I am flying, trying to avoid the dragon’s breath but I am tired and it hits me. The pain is bad, but now feels muffled. I feel,” she tilted her head, her eyes half closed as she tried to remember. “I feel something happening.”

“Yes, concentrate on that moment,” Learning encouraged her.

Teagan was tired from his fast ride to and from Lothering but quickly acted on Saykor’s plan. Soon, blacksmiths were working on a shallow basin the size of a small bed and maidservants were lashing together pieces of sailcloth while others gathered as much wax as they could find. Once the cloth was the correct size, they melted the wax and quickly spread it across one side before it could harden again. They would have worked quickly as he demanded anyway but the Arl’s promised reward made them eager to finish the contraption before morning.

Hours later, not long before dawn, an unusual procession traveled through the halls of Redcliffe Castle led by Arl Teagan. He entered Janna’s room first, “It’s been a long night, my friend. Let’s see if we can make you more comfortable,” he brushed back her hair and picked her up very carefully. “Maker’s breath, Owen’s forge isn’t as hot as you, I hope this works,” he moved stepped back out of the way.

“Teagan . . . pearls . . . trying,” Jannasilane murmured, causing Blaine and the Arl to exchange worried looks.

A group of servants stripped the bed and removed the mattress, leaving the woven rope supports bare. One woman stopped to look at Blaine, “Ma’am, we’re going to air out this bed so it’ll be nice and fresh for the Arlessa when she’s better. The Revered Mother is leading an outdoor prayer service because the Chantry doesn’t have enough room for everybody. None of us forgot what she and the Hero have done for us.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Teagan smiled gratefully. He looked down at the small woman in his arms, “Do you hear that Janna? Don’t you dare let my people down.” He watched the men bring in a boat.

“They’s still working on th’ metal basin, she’ll take s’me hours ‘fore she’s complete. One’m says t’ use dinghy fer non. So’s we stripp’d her insides ‘nd clean’d her up some,” the oldest man explained. “If’n it c’n float on w’ter, it c’n hold same.”

Teagan’s eyes twinkled slightly but otherwise kept his expression sober and respectful, “Good thinking, the important thing is to get her fever down. Thank you, gentlemen.” He blinked at the aroma beginning to fill the room, _“It may be clean but Maker, that aroma . . . you can take the boat out of Lake Calenhad but apparently you can’t take Lake Calenhad out of the boat.”_ They filled the boat with water, lashed the sailcloth across the top with the wax side down, and finally placed a blanket and cotton sheet across the top per Blaine’s direction. “Aren’t you going to freeze the water?”

Blaine shook her head, “After she’s settled. She’ll be more comfortable and the ice more effective if it’s molded to her.”

“Ah, of course,” Teagan carefully placed her on top of the sheet and helped the mage arrange her for comfort and ease of treatment. “Ok, my dear, your water-soon-to-be-ice bed is ready.” He stepped back and waited with the other Wardens while Blaine froze the water and monitored the injured woman.

Jannasilane frowned, concentrating on making her Blight pearls. She smiled when she succeeded, “Better,” she murmured.

“It’s working,” Blaine confirmed to everyone’s relief.

“Very good, young Griffonsong, you are doing well. Remember to keep your pearls small enough that the healers can remove them more easily without injuring you further.” The sun was up before Learning was satisfied Jannasilane understood and was able to control the process. Before leaving, Learning reassured her, “You and your mages have many days work ahead of you. Be well, young Griffonsong, this experience has been most enlightening.”

“Learning and I join Valor now,” Wisdom said. “It is rare to see a Griffonsong in your world. Others come to help you,” she was gone.

“My Ali, Anders,” Jannasilane sighed.

“Yes,” said Justice.

“Yes,” Blaine unknowingly echoed the spirit. “If I know the Commander he and Anders are halfway here by now. You need to rest.”

Cole placed his fingers over her eyes, “Yes, rest and remember.”

Alistair didn’t slow down until they were in the castle courtyard two days later. He jumped off and ran up the steps followed by Oghren and the healers. Zeke patted the side of his horse’s neck and dismounted, “You did well. You deserve a good rest and some good feed.”

“We’ll see to it, ser,” a Redcliffe guard promised. “You go on and follow the Commander.”

Anders and Brody bumped against Alistair’s back when he stopped short in Jannasilane’s doorway. “Umm, am I seeing things?” His Janna was sleeping in a metal bowl and a grey kitten lay on her chest and stared at him with suspicious blue eyes. “Maker,” he was horrified when he saw the wound on her hip and thigh, “it looks, I dunno, evil.” He knelt by the bed near her head, “I’m here my love,” he told her quietly. “While you sleep I’m going to get out of my armor and clean up a bit. Even I can tell I stink.” He started to brush her hair back but stopped when the kitten hissed at him. “Fine, fine, I’ll wash first. Nugflutter is going to love you,” he rolled his eyes.

Alistair was fast but Anders and Brody were faster. “What do you think?” he asked quietly in an effort not to wake his wife. He sat next to her and brought her hand to his lips.

“Neither of us have ever seen anything quite like it,” Anders answered since he was the senior healer. “Red lyrium, well, I’ve never heard of any dragon spitting lyrium. Lyrium is bad enough and with her sensitivity, I understand why Blaine had trouble with healing spells. If red lyrium is tainted, I’d expect it to spread a certain way but it isn’t. I’m happy about that,” he added hastily, “I just don’t understand why it hasn’t made much progress and it seems to be lumpy.”

Jannasilane stirred then and partially opened her eyes before whispering, “Pearls, I made pearls, my Ali.”

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head so she couldn’t see his face, “Th-that’s good, Jannalove.” The worried warrior was surprised to see the healers smiling. Anders was even rubbing his hands together in glee. “Explain,” he barked, not caring how he sounded.

“I think Poppet just confirmed an idea that came to me when Saykor was filling us in.” Anders hesitated a moment then shook his head to clear it, “You know I was in trouble a lot when I was in the Circle.”

“You were legend,” Brody snorted.

“That’s what I keep telling Tambra,” Anders smirked. “Anyway, one time my punishment was to make accurate copies of some of the less used, as in more boring, tomes in the library. I had excellent penmanship,” he preened. “Odd, really, considering how much I hated to be stuck inside.”

“Your theory?” Alistair prodded impatiently.

“Dragons don’t contract the Blight. I don’t mean like Archdemons, I mean the regular ghoul-making kind. Why not? It’s not as if we’ve never seen young dragons and darkspawn fighting before. The taint, as we know, usually spreads easily. One of the books I had to copy included a lot of draconic theory. You’d think that would be interesting but somehow the author managed to make them so boring even my pen fell asleep. Anyway, one theory suggested dragons were immune, which I don’t believe. Another theory was that they have a natural defense that kicks in automatically. What if the same is true for Griffons?”

Now Alistair looked interested, “And if it is, then maybe my Janna has the same ability, whatever it is.”

“Yeah,” Brody was looking excited, “I mean we all know darkspawn and griffons were natural enemies and it doesn’t make sense that they were never injured in combat or never swallowed darkspawn blood. Lady J said she created pearls, oysters create pearls when it is protecting itself from -”

“- something stuck in its craw,” Alistair’s voice was dry as dust, he also remembered Isolde’s lesson.

“That explains it. Come on, Brody; let’s figure out the best way to remove these Blight pearls. Once we do, Poppet might start responding better to healing. Do you see this? The pearls aren’t the same.” Soon the two healers were lost in discussion, exchanging ideas and trying to come up with a plan.

Alistair bowed his head and nuzzled Jannasilane’s hair, “Thank the Maker. You surprise me once again. I love you so much; I’m not ready to lose you now. Anders and Brody will figure out what to do. We all want you home with us; the Vigil isn’t the same without you. Even Brownie misses you.”

“I miss you, too. I want to go home,” Jannasilane rasped. Alistair hurriedly poured her a cup of water and held it to her lips. “Thank you, my Ali. You look tired,” she gently caressed the side of his face.

“I’m better now that I see you,” he turned his head so he could kiss her palm.


	139. Some Things are Best Forgotten

They left Redcliffe without disturbing anyone. They passed people going to the market, Druffalo peacefully grazing in the fields, and farmers tending their crops.”The Inquisitor did well to end the conflict tearing apart these lands,” the taller one remarked approvingly.

“Yes,” Cole replied.

“It was good to see Anders well and, despite his worry, happy again.  Now that I am back in the Fade I can see how unjust my actions were,” Justice said calmly.

“You helped him help his friends. He doesn’t blame you, why did you want me to make him forget?”

For a moment, the air shimmered in agitation. A fennec stared with its big eyes and then ran off. Cole waited patiently for Justice to reply. “Anders was a good friend, certainly a better friend to me than I to him. He might have been glad to see me and welcomed my help but soon he would have begun to doubt. Since we parted, he has worked hard to protect himself from any other as well as me. You know and I know his walls are strong, but he would start looking for weaknesses that aren’t there. The Warden-Commander is an honorable man who risked much to separate Anders and Vengeance. He, too, would have doubts and he might have hesitated to let Anders begin removing the Blight pearls.”

“Removing them will make her better. I don’t understand.”

“A little doubt can be good for mortals,” Justice began slowly. “It makes them question and seek better answers. Vengeance ate away at Anders, like a poison; too much doubt is a different kind of poison. It can make mortals hesitate to act when they need to. It can cause them to distrust others, be ineffective, lose confidence and invite fear. Fear can lead to bad decisions.”

Cole nodded, thinking about the other spirit’s words. “They would both be hurt, Anders and the Warden-Commander, if they doubted Anders was safe. We could tell them but they wouldn’t believe. Probably.”

Justice sighed, “That is most likely.”

“Are you glad you are back in the Fade?” Cole wanted to know.

“I did not leave by choice. Unlike others, I never had any desire to venture into the mortal world. I found it difficult to understand, to ‘gain my footing’ in a world where nothing was clear and nothing seemed to change. The Warden-Commander allowed me to remain with the Grey Wardens and I found a purpose in their just cause. In time, I came to understand a little why some of our brethren seek to enter the mortal realm by any means possible, there is much beauty here and mortals rarely seem to understand. I could feel memories layered over memories long after the ones who created them were dead. I inhabited Kristoff’s body. He was dead but his memories were not . . . a quiet dinner by the fire with his wife, how much he enjoyed her smile. There were sad memories as well such as faces of friends lost in battle.” They wandered further without speaking.

Eventually, Justice continued as if there had been no pause, “There are many injustices in this world.” Cole nodded his head in vigorous agreement. “Limited by a physical body meant I had to concentrate my efforts. Darkspawn are an evil cancer in this world and fighting them satisfied my purpose. Once we defeated those who attacked Amaranthine and killed Kristoff, many injustices clamored for my attention. The abuses mages have suffered for many mortal years were a particular outrage.”

“Because Anders was your friend,” Cole replied.

“Perhaps,” Justice considered it. “He had suffered injustices and knew of others. The notion of locking up children because of something simple like magic is incredibly unjust. I urged him to pursue freedom for his fellow mages but he declined. When the betrayers handed him over to waiting templars . . . I do not think Anders would have agreed to our merging if he thought he would live. He believed he was going to die and wanted to take as many of those responsible with him as he could.”

“But he lived. You lived.”

“Yes. And once we were merged I discovered his anger was far deeper than I believe even he realized.”

Cole looked up with a frown, “How could he not know how angry he was? The anger was inside him.”

Justice considered how best to answer what he only partly understood, “I have many times asked myself the same question and I am not sure I understand. As is often the case with the mortal world, there is no simple answer. Time is different in the Fade. It is always ‘now’ even when it isn’t. Mortals are formed by the ‘then’ but live in the ‘now’. Anders is busy trying to heal the Griffonsong. He is calling on his knowledge and experience but doesn’t need to remember every lesson or every event to do so. Those memories are part of his ‘then.’ Their ‘then’ isn’t always time related. When something is too painful, especially when they feel powerless to change it, mortals often push it away so it doesn’t overwhelm them.”

“Like Anders and his anger. They create memory pearls.”

“I believe this is so, yes. All mortals are a mix of virtues and vices, even the best of them have vices. When we merged, my quest for justice unlocked all his old rage, creating the fuel to turn Justice into Vengeance.” Justice thought a moment, “I remember one conversation with the Warden-Commander, and we spoke of justice. I was still new to the mortal world and had just heard about a sheepherder who stole grain from a convoy.” He told Cole the details. “I wanted to know why he wasn’t punished.”

Cole was intrigued, “What did the Warden-Commander say?”

“He said that in the Fade I could be pure Justice because that was an ideal but in the real world, the world of mortals, justice without mercy and compassion was a cold, hard, cruel thing. He said the just action wasn’t always the right action. I didn’t begin to understand until I returned to the Fade and became myself again. There is much beauty in Anders’ world, but I am glad to be in the Fade once again. The Fade is my home. It is harder to be pure Justice than it was before, but I believe that now I better understand what justice means.”

For a long time they were silent, two spirits slipping through the shadows. The Herald’s light blazed through the Fade, making it easy for them to follow. Before leaving, Justice looked at Compassion, “You walk a difficult road friend, and I wish you well. The realm of mortals is complicated.”

“YES,” Cole fervently agreed. Then Justice was gone and he made his way to Skyhold alone.


	140. Restless in Redcliffe

Jannasilane was annoyed. Everybody was so nice and deferential and concerned she wanted to scream. Teagan was her friend and she appreciated his letting her recover from her injuries at his home. Maker knew she was fond of Anders; he was also a good friend. However, her Ali returned to Vigil’s Keep more than two weeks ago. Saying goodbye was hard, but they knew he couldn’t stay until she was able to leave, especially since neither Anders nor Brody were willing to give them a sense of how long that might be. “I can understand not knowing then, but still they say they do not know,” she complained to a sympathetic Starphire. “And,” she opened her wardrobe for emphasis, “they took my clothes so I cannot even go to the Village. Not that I would,” she mused. She couldn’t even wear smallclothes because they would irritate her wound, a wound the healers kept open so they could remove the ‘mature’ Blight pearls more easily and cleanly.

_“Poppet,” Anders explained, “your pearls are maturing, I don’t know what else to call it, at different rates. Thing is, if they’re not mature we can’t take them out without tearing you up more on the inside.”_

_“What we want to do is keep your wound open,” Brody explained to her and Alistair. “We think it will be better for you in the long run if we don’t constantly close and reopen it. Another complication is that the red lyrium is interfering with our spells. We feel the less magic the better until more pearls are gone. Even now the few we’ve removed are starting to make a difference.”_

“But they still do not wish me to even leave this room.” She and Starphire exchanged looks, “That was fine before, but now . . . I’m not weak anymore, just sore.” She opened the bedroom door, “This nightshirt will have to do. At least it falls below my knees. Come,” she and the kitten quietly stalked out of her room, pausing to smirk at the sleeping mage in the corner of her ‘parlor.’

             

She wanted to go outside but she didn’t want to talk to people so she decided to go to the battlements. When she reached the top of the back stairs, she was limping but she wasn’t going to turn back after being this close to relative freedom. The guards were surprised to see her but left her alone after nodding politely, for which she was grateful. She put Starphire down and slowly limped to the most eastern and northern place she could find and stared in the direction of Amaranthine. She climbed onto the wall and held onto the teeth at either side, _“I must remember they are called merlons, not teeth; which is most odd since merlins are birds and these solid structures do not fly and never flew. Maybe if I close my eyes I can pretend I am home. Humph, I think I’ve been in that room too long.”_

Oghren found her there a few hours later. Blue kitten eyes stared at him when he spoke, “There ya are; the sparklers are lookin’ all over for ya.”

“Pffftt.”

“Ha, knew you was getting antsy. Told ‘em they was makin’ a mistake, trying to keep you here,” he snorted. Oghren squinted up at her, “Hey, think you can come down now? I don’t like lookin’ at all that sky behind ya.” He pulled on the tail of her nightshirt for emphasis.

“Fine,” she grumbled. She stumbled a little when she came down but he caught her before she could fall, “I want to go home, Oghren.”

“Yeah,” he awkwardly patted her back. “Look, you wanna stay outside let’s just sit here awhile. Won’t hurt the sparklers to keep looking for ya a while longer.” He ignored her red-rimmed eyes and tracks of dried tears. Once they were sitting with their backs to the wall, he pulled out his flask and offered her first swig. To his surprise, she took a sip before handing it back. Starphire hopped into her lap and was soon purring happily under stroking fingers. “Do you think your little fluff ball is going to get along with your new friend?”

“Nugflutter? I don’t see why not. I think Ser Pounce-a-lot will struggle more,” she shrugged.

“Heh, heh, yeah,” Oghren chuckled. They passed the flask back and forth a few more times before the dwarf asked a question about Haven, “Did ya really tell the dragon to ‘piss off, you sodding nughumper’?”

She thought back and grinned, “Yes, this is truth. I wanted to make sure it knew I was annoyed with it.”

He nudged her, “Huh, I think it got the message. Listen; when you decide to go, I’m with ya. Old Oghren’ll make sure you get home safely.”

“Thanks, Oghren,” she sighed happily and leaned her head on the dwarf’s shoulder. That’s how Teagan, Anders, and Brody found them.

“Poppet, we were worried,” Anders started scolding her but Starphire stopped him by leaping forward and hissing at them.

Janna ignored both healers, “Teagan, do you plan on locking me up or putting me in your dungeon?”

Teagan raised an eyebrow at the odd question but answered with a small smile, “Of course not, my friend. You are always an honored guest. Why do you ask?”

“Because _they,_ ” she pointed an accusing finger at the two healers, “hid my clothes. In five days I leave to return to Vigil’s Keep with or without clothing. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, this is truth, but I want to go home,” she added plaintively.

Anders frowned, “Poppet, we didn’t want you doing too much and injuring yourself further. I can see from here you’re bleeding. I thought you understood that keeping the wound open so we could remove the Blight pearls more easily meant less damage to you.”

“That was weeks ago! You still don’t know how long it will take, do you?” Jannasilane glared at her friends.

Brody sighed, “No, we don’t. We’ve removed enough that you’re beginning to respond normally to healing spells. Remember, we agreed that we should only remove the pearls that are ‘mature,’ they can practically be plucked out without risk of breaking open or tearing your insides. For everybody’s sake, we don’t want any to rupture before we can destroy them. We still can’t estimate how long before we’re done since the maturing process is still inconsistent.”

“Keeping her prisoner here while you figure it out is rather drastic, don’t you think?” Teagan remarked drily. Brody flushed at his tone. “My dear Janna, Alistair left horses for you. I can send a message to the Vigil, if you like.” He helped her to her feet.  “Now that I know you are much better than I was led to believe, I would love for you to join me for dinner. I’m sure your friends,” he raised his eyebrow at the two mages, “will find your clothes.”

Saykor and Blaine left for Lothering early the next morning. They didn’t run their horses flat out, but they did keep up a fast pace so that they reached the small village well before the end of the day. Just outside Lothering Saykor pulled up, “That’s the road to Ostagar,” he pointed. “Once we send our message to the Commander, we will have nothing to do for the first time in I don’t remember how long. So, Dimples, I was thinking, tomorrow, let’s take a day just for us. Maybe we can find the place where the Commander met Cherryplum.”

“You smooth-talking romantic, you,” Blaine teased with a smile before agreeing. They entered Lothering.

The night before leaving Redcliffe, Jannasilane couldn’t sleep. At least she now had her clothes and armor back so she could leave her room if she wanted. Teagan said Ginetta liked to knit when she was feeling unsettled so she tried. “I really did try,” she told Starphire. After poking herself in the hand a few times, all she managed to accomplish was a tangled toy for the grey kitten. “Maybe I should look at the library to see if that Alexius person messed with Teagan’s books. That should not be too much dirt for Anders or Brody. What do you think, Starphire?”

“I think it’s time for me to look at your leg again,” Anders startled her from outside her door. “Since we leave tomorrow morning I want to give you one more check.”

“Hah! You just like looking at and holding her leg,” Oghren said from behind him. “Not that I blame you,” he added with a friendly leer.

“Just one of the many benefits of being a healer. You should try it some time; oh, you can’t. Dwarves can’t do magic,” Anders cheerfully retorted. He peeled back the bandage he and Brody applied a couple of days ago, “Interesting, the pearls seem to flow towards the opening, as if your body is pushing them towards the exit.” He delicately removed the ripe ones and dropped them into the metal bucket. “I think we can even close this up a little bit more. We’ll bandage the rest, with a dressing designed to keep it safely open, but you’ll be able to wear clothes more comfortably. I think we’ll be able to treat you more easily as well when we’re out on the road.” He stood and grinned at his charge and friend, “Once we’re on our way, we’ll find a secluded bit and you can shift. Now that you’re strong enough to do so I want to make sure your wing is okay. The longer it goes without treatment-”

“- the worse it will get and the harder it will be to heal properly,” Jannasilane and Oghren finished for him.

“Glad to know you listen to me. Redcliffe Castle is nice enough; I admit I’ll be glad to see the Vigil again. Maybe Hawke will be back,” he said wistfully.

Oghren snorted, “You better worry about what your furry, smelly friend will think of little blue eyes there,” he pointed to Starphire.

“I’m sure Pounce will be a perfect gentleman,” Anders sniffed. He ostentatiously ignored the disbelieving looks of his comrades. Privately he was more concerned about the young Starphire than the mature Ser Pounce-a-lot. In his experience, young cats were curious and sometimes annoyed older cats to the point of outright warfare. He hoped the Vigil was big enough.

The next morning Teagan helped Jannasilane onto the horse in front of Cragen, “Janna, give Alistair my regards. Be careful, all of you, the Inquisitor’s watchtowers are a great help but I doubt the roads are completely safe even so. Some of my men will accompany you as far as Lothering; Ginetta will have my head otherwise. Enjoy your homecoming, my dear,” he squeezed her hand and kissed her fingers before letting her go and stepping back. “Take care of her,” he warned the others.

“We will, my lord,” Cragen assured the Arl. As they started moving, he had a question for the woman in front of him, “Everybody is so protective of you, do you think it’s because we’re all fond of you or because -”

“Don’t say it,” she warned over shoulder.

“- you’re so small?”

Teagan chuckled, he knew his friend well.

“I am _not_ little,” Janna declared and ineffectively jabbed him with her elbow. “I hate you all,” she muttered when everybody laughed. She looked down at Starphire, comfortably sitting in the travel pouch and making odd sounds, “You too?”

They rode into the small village only to pull up short when they saw something rolling across the bridge. “ _What_ ,” Oghren stared, “is _that_?”

Saykor and a laughing Blaine pulled up in front of their lady, “What do you think of the Cherryplum Chariot Express?” He nudged the mage at his side, “Told ya they’d get here today.”

“I’ll pay up later,” she promised.

Meanwhile, Oghren had dismounted and was examining the two-wheeled buggy, carriage, whatever. He shook his head, “I told that stupid dog he could pull a chariot, even if I was thinkin’ of something different. I can’t wait to give it a try.”

 “While waiting for you we found a whole barn full of these, well, variations of this. Some guy named Barlin said the farmer who owned it, didn’t remember his name just that people called him Eccentric Eddie, had this idea for light vehicles which could be pulled by one horse and be almost as fast a rider on horseback. Poor sod never came back to Lothering, don’t know if he died or just decided to stay where he was. I’m a warrior, not a craftsman, but I like to tinker with things. Could never do that in Orzammar, not publicly anyway, step on somebody’s toes or be accused of lowering my caste,” he scowled and rolled his eyes. His years on the surface made him realize just how dangerously hidebound his home was. Oghren agreed with a loud snort and a drink from his flask.

“ _I_ think you did a wonderful job. Lady J, this is so easy to use,” Blaine enthused. She qualified her statement, “Well, it’s easy to use if your horse is used to pulling a cart. I was able to easily get the cart in position and put the gear on my horse by myself and without magic. We can go almost as fast as if we were riding. We’ve been experimenting; making sure it’s ready for you. I don’t think you’ll want to ride all the way to Amaranthine.”

By now, the others had dismounted and were walking around the ‘chariot’. They saw two large wheels with what looked like the back half of an open carriage between them, only simpler and lighter. A short wall, only as high as the seat, partly protected the passengers from dust, mud, or other splatters. Instead of being enclosed, the area under the seat was open, big enough for a couple of packs. It was wide enough for two people to sit close together, but not so wide that one person couldn’t touch both sides. Anders gaze traveled over hoops on either side and over the middle, “What are those for?”

Saykor and Blaine looked at each other, grinning. Blaine stood and began pulling on a rope hooked on the middle hoop. Soon heavy cotton covered the top of the chariot, “Dimples thought of it. We need something else in case of a heavy storm but it’ll provide some shade from the sun or protection from a light rain. We even cut some slits in the back so the air could go through. Got kind of stuffy without ‘em.”

“You should have seen them two days ago when they kept tipping over,” Seneschal Varel said drily. After somebody notified him that the Arlessa arrived and was talking to the crazy dwarf, he walked out to greet him. “It is good to see you again, my lady. I’m very pleased you have recovered enough to go home,” he smiled.

“Not as pleased as I am,” Jannasilane replied with a happy sigh. Then she frowned, “What do you mean, tipping over?”

“What’d ya have to tell her that for?” Saykor grumbled. “You can’t turn as tight as you can on the back of a horse, took a little getting used to. I knew the human was on to somethin’ so I kept working at it. See how these wheels are a bit wide and heavy, like for a hay wagon? These aren’t the original wheels. I figured part of the problem was the chariot was too light and with people too much weight was too far off the ground. So, I changed the wheels and axle to make them heavier. Makes turning less troublesome and a small rock isn’t as sodding likely to bump your occupants. Haven’t had time to figure out how to shackle two horses to it so right now only a horse strong enough to carry two riders should pull it since somebody else needs to drive.”

“I can learn,” Jannasilane scowled.

Varel spoke before any of the others could say something to irritate her further, “My lady, of course you can and should. I, however, will be more comfortable if another is with you. We don’t know how tiring it will be and, thankfully, you are better, but not yet fully recovered. The nature of your injury might make sitting in the required position difficult or unadvisable for a considerable period of time.”

His words might have worked. Then Anders spoke, “That’s right, Poppet. If you feel the need to lie down you can easily fit in the space under the seat. We should put a blanket and pillow in there for you.”

The Seneschal walked away, shaking his head. He didn’t smile until he was sure nobody could see him. It was so nice that some things were getting back to normal. He sent a message to the Vigil when they left Lothering the next day.


	141. She’s Here, She’s Here

When Alistair returned home, he quickly shed his armor and handed it off to a waiting squire who’d clean it and put it back in his armory, _“One perk of the job I don’t mind. Since my children are in the middle of lessons, I should have just enough time to bathe and change. Maker, I’m tired.”_ He decided that if he was going to talk to them about their mother he’d do so in her garden. He grabbed a sandwich and went to wait in Janna’s arbor. He felt closer to her there than anywhere else except their bedroom and her tower. Poorfella followed him. When he fell asleep leaning against the wall behind him she settled down at his feet and watched over him.

Martelle was still suspicious about the reason her father left, but she wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake she made with her mother. She flushed with shame every time she remembered her last words to her mother. “I’m glad Dad’s home,” she said to her brothers.

“I don’t like when Mommy and Daddy are gone,” Duncan fretted the entire time Alistair was gone. “Lane neither,” he added. Lane didn’t say anything. He hadn’t spoken a word since his father left the Vigil.

“Well, I don’t like it either,” their big sister admitted. “But Dad wouldn’t have left if it weren’t important. Neither would Mom. And they wouldn’t have left at all if they didn’t know we’d be safe,” she reminded herself as much as them. Her brothers each held one of her hands the short distance to their mother’s garden. They stopped at the entrance when they saw their father.

“Da tired,” Lane turned to his siblings and put his finger to his lips, “Shh.”

Quietly they tiptoed until they were next to their sleeping father. Poorfella moved aside so Martelle could help Duncan climb up to sit next to his father. Then she and Lane settled on Alistair’s other side. She couldn’t quite suppress a giggle when two-year old Lane calmly grabbed the sandwich from their father’s hand and began eating. His hands were so small that at least half fell to the ground where Poorfella disposed of the evidence.

Some minutes later Alistair woke with a snort and blinked his eyes. When he realized his children were next to him, he grabbed them in a big bear hug, “I am so glad to see you guys. I have news about Mommy.” He looked closely at his youngest son, “Did you eat my sandwich?”

“What about Mommy?” Martelle asked, chewing her lower lip.

“First, she’s fine. She’s safe with Uncle Teagan in Redcliffe. The bad person who created the Breach attacked Haven and your mother was very brave helping save hundreds of innocent people. She got hurt really bad but Anders and Brody are with her and she was a lot better when I left,” he kissed their heads.

“Mommy’s coming home?” Duncan asked anxiously.

“Yes, Mommy is coming home as soon as she’s strong enough. It might be a few weeks or even a couple of months, but she will be coming home.”

Martelle was thinking, “Won’t she miss us? Can I go to Redcliffe to be with her? Maybe I can help.”

_“Uh oh,”_ Alistair thought when the boys chimed in that they wanted to go too. “Sorry, guys, it’s not safe enough for me to take you to Redcliffe. But,” he smiled as an idea came to him, “I thought we could use this time to plan a surprise for Mommy. We can brainstorm over the next couple of days and then come up with a plan. Right now, I’m hungry. _Somebody,_ ” he looked at his youngest, “ate my sandwich.” Lane just giggled.

Alistair was painting Janna’s surprise when Alan came to him with a message from Seneschal Varel. The warrior put down his brush and rubbed his hands on the old pants he was wearing before taking the piece of paper. He read it twice and then turned to the four children who were still and waiting. He grinned, “Mommy’s coming home. She’ll be here in just a few days. Good thing we’re almost finished, isn’t it?” The children dropped their paintbrushes and began dancing in a circle. Alistair watched them with a huge smile on his face before picking up his brush. He began whistling cheerfully as he painted one stroke after another. Alan eagerly spread the news around the Vigil.

“We’re almost home, Cherryplum,” Oghren was driving. “Be good to see the boy again. Gotta admit I miss Felsi yellin’ and throwin’ things at me. Hot.”

“I am most eager to see my family and everyone else, this is truth,” Jannasilane was straining forward in an effort to see her home.

Oghren nudged her, “Arrive in style and show ‘em you’re alright.” He handed her the reins and sat back to drink from his flask. Jannasilane eagerly took control.

Scouts on top of the ramparts were scanning the road for the first sign of their Arlessa. As soon as they sighted Jannasilane and party, they quickly notified their Commander and the Professor so they could begin their welcome home. The mages and older apprentices lined up on the forward ramparts and, on the Professor’s signal, brought forth wisp lights in a variety of colors they sent to line both sides of the road in front of the gates. Alistair stood in the middle of the open gates holding onto Martelle, Duncan, and Lane. When Janna was close enough to see the lights, they began to dance. Oghren murmured something about ‘sodding sparklers’ when he snorted ale out his nose.

She stopped the chariot a few feet from the gates. “Am I dreaming?” she murmured in wonder as she stared at the lights now dancing on either side. Starphire stared with unblinking eyes. People were cheering from the ramparts and the courtyard, shouting ‘welcome home.’ Martelle broke from her father’s grasp and began running. Oghren hastily scrambled down and helped her into the chariot where she threw herself into her mother’s open arms, “Mommy, I’m so glad you’re back. I don’t hate, you, I don’t; I was mad, that’s all” she sobbed. “I love you.”

“I know, my precious Martelle. I love you, too, so very much,” Jannasilane soothed. “And who are these giants coming towards us?” Alistair picked up the two boys and put them in the chariot as well. “You have grown so much, my Duncan and my Lane,” she hugged them until they began to squeal. She didn’t stop until Starphire licked Lane’s nose, causing him to jump and then roar with laughter. “I see you met my new friend. Her name is Starphire and she is from Haven,” Jannasilane pulled the kitten completely out of her pack.

“Pretty kitty,” Lane said and gently petted the young cat. Soon Starphire was purring loudly under all the admiring strokes.

Alistair watched for a moment, a huge smile on his face, before leading the horse through the gates. He’d give the children this time. When the horse’s nose reached the opening, a few people above began throwing flower petals. Jannasilane grinned and waved. The petals floated down slowly and Starphire stood on her hind legs trying to catch them. The children weren’t the only ones laughing at the sight.

After the children were down Alistair helped her out of the chariot and continued to hold her until Martelle began pulling on her mother’s hand, “There’s more.”

“More? More than the flowers and beautiful lights at the gates? You have been very busy, my daughter,” Jannasilane laughed.

“We helped,” Duncan jutted his chin forward pugnaciously.

“I know you did,” she kissed the top of his head. She wasn’t going to leave until she thanked everybody for such a splendid welcome home, “I missed my home, but knowing you were all here with my family gave me strength when I was sad, this is truth. Thank you, all of you.”

“Come on,” Martelle said impatiently and pulled on her hand to keep her from talking further. Alistair stayed behind to talk to Anders and Brody while several others wanted to examine the chariot. The little girl led the way to their mother’s garden where Janice Lynette waited with the Professor, who quickly left the ramparts before the flower petals dropped, and some of the younger apprentices. They created and controlled soft balls of light placed around the perimeter of the garden. Opposite the arbor was a brand new gazebo. A giant bow was across the entrance and on the steps underneath the bow sat Nugflutter, Pinktara and Crumpet. On either side of the steps Brownie and Poorfella bookended the smaller dogs.

Nugflutter barked happily when he saw his mistress. Jannasilane laughed, “I have missed you too.” She set Starphire down and looked around in wonder, “It is so beautiful. And to think you did all this for me.” She hugged her children and opened her arms to J-Lynn, “Thank you, I, thank you.” The Professor smiled and nodded, releasing Janice and taking control of her orb so the girl could greet her foster mother.

“I’m so glad you’re back, Aunt Janna,” the girl buried her face in Jannasilane’s shoulder.

“It was Janice’s idea to make the lights change color and dance, Mommy,” Martelle generously shared credit with her friend.

“Yes, quite an interesting exercise for my pupils and a humbling one for some,” the Professor’s eyes twinkled. “Summoning the light is an early achievement, the rest took more attention and finer control than they expected. I am most pleased you returned, mistress. Janice Lynette, we will see you later. No more classes until tomorrow,” he bowed to Jannasilane and prepared to lead the apprentices away.

“Thank you, Professor,” Jannasilane said. She gave the apprentices a quick hug and the Professor a chaste kiss on the cheek before they left. The lights, except for J-Lynn’s, slowly faded away.

Meanwhile Starphire and Nugflutter slowly approached each other on the main path between arbor and gazebo. They reached the halfway point and sat down. Nugflutter tilted his head to the left and his ears twitched thoughtfully as he studied the younger animal. Starphire tilted her head to the right, blinking her eyes slowly in consideration. They conducted their own question and answer session in a series of muted barks, growls and meows. They finished by lightly touching noses and butting heads. When Jannasilane turned around the two began running towards her in tandem. They didn’t stop until they leapt into her arms. She laughed as the little dog covered her face in ‘kisses’. “I am happy to see you too, Nugflutter, thank you for looking after my family. Now let us examine the pretty gazebo together,” the group moved forward.

“Garden,” Duncan smiled and nodded his head. He had a firm grasp of his mother’s good leg.

Alistair wasn’t far behind but he stopped to watch from the stable’s shadows. He enjoyed the rare moments when he could observe his family without their knowledge. He listened to his children’s explanation of how they came up with the idea, starting with Duncan’s one word statement during their brainstorming session, their wish to do something for her that would last, Tina’s suggestion they talk to Nathaniel since he traveled outside Ferelden and might have some ideas. Martelle was getting ready to explain Dworkin’s modifications when he joined them.

“Untie the bow, Mommy,” Martelle directed.

Jannasilane put down her furry friends, then bowed to the other four dogs waiting patiently, “Thank you for such a lovely homecoming.” Apparently, that was the signal they were waiting for; they barked and then left their ‘posts’. “It’s beautiful,” she marveled, running her hands over the padded benches at the sides before walking to the small table and chairs in the center. “It even has a stove,” she smiled.

“It’s better now that you’re home,” he looked around appreciatively, “a pretty place for my pretty wife to relax and admire the fruits of her labor.”

“Mommy, watch this,” Martelle left her mother’s side and began turning a small wheel on one of the pillars. An iron circle, painted white to match the rest of the gazebo, descended. Hanging at regular intervals were small lanterns with colored glass. When it was low enough, Martelle locked the wheel, “You can even come out here at night.” She watched her father light the lamps.

“Oh,” Jannasilane murmured. “Look at the colors glowing against the white paint.”

“I drew that one,” Duncan pointed.

Martelle nodded, “We all drew pictures, even Lane, then gave them to Master Dworkin. He said he could make them part of the lantern glass. The process might mess up the paper but the colors would remain for a long, long time. I don’t understand how,” she frowned thoughtfully.

“The how does not matter, my Martelle. The effect is most lovely and I will enjoy my new gazebo, this is truth. Thank you all, I am a lucky woman to have such wonderful children. I love all of you very much,” she sniffled and tried not to cry, even if they were happy tears.

“Everybody loves you, Mommy,” Martelle snuggled against her mother.

J-Lynn joined her, “It’s true Aunt Janna, everybody wanted to help do something special for you. We all think you’re very brave. The cooks and Orana made all your favorite foods; you have a ver- a veritable feast waiting for you in the dining hall.”

“Cinnamon buns?” Alistair asked, causing his family to laugh.

“I admit I am hungry,” Jannasilane sighed. “But first, I must do this,” she gathered all four children into a big hug.

Alistair knelt at her side, “And I need to do this,” he wrapped them all in his strong arms. “Maker, it’s good we’re all together again.”

“This is truth,” his wife sighed happily.


	142. A Letter for Leliana

# Chapter 142:  A Letter for Leliana

Leliana prayed fervently at the small altar she set up in her office at Skyhold, a letter from Amaranthine in her hands. “Thank you, Maker,” she said quietly before she stood. “Right, let’s see if this gets us any further,” she went to the war room with her letter.

Josephine studied her friend, “You look less burdened, Leliana. Good news?”

“Ah, you know me too well,” the pretty bard smiled. “Yes, Janna survived her encounter with that dragon, though it was a close thing.”

“Nice to know something is going right. These so-called Freemen of the Dales are beginning to irritate me; they pop up like flies,” the Inquisitor said as she walked in. “I’m glad your friend is well, she risked a great deal to help us.”

“Hear, hear,” Cullen added.

“I think you should read this,” Leliana placed the letter on the table. “I don’t know that it gives us new information but I think it does provide some clarification.”

_“To my favoritest redhead in Thedas (and no, I do not mean Oghren),_

_Congratulations on being alive, you, the Inquisitor, and anybody else who survived the attack on Haven. Nathaniel and my Janna told me what happened. Thank the Maker the love of my life is a strong woman because when I saw her in Redcliffe (it’s a miracle she made it that far) I thought she was dying. I wasn’t the only one. She says she didn’t die because Cole helped her remember what she never knew. I don’t understand, I don’t know who he is other than somebody with the Inquisition, I don’t know that I care because my Janna is alive and after several weeks recuperating at Redcliffe she is finally home. Tell Cole he is a welcome visitor at the Vigil when the Inquisitor squishes this ancient Tevinter blowhard like a bug. I don’t suppose you could do that sooner rather than later. Only someone with delusions of grandeur calls themselves ‘the Elder One’. Does he even keep a straight face when he says that?_

_About this guy, is it really Corypheus? That’s the word I got while Janna was in Redcliffe. Leli, that’s bad, really, really bad; as bad as Archie or worse. Two of my Wardens were with Hawke when she confronted him in the Vimmark Mountains. I probably shouldn’t tell you this but since Varric was there as well I don’t think any of my fellow Warden-Commanders can get their knickers in too much of a twist. Corypheus claimed to be one of the magisters, a priest of Dumat, who tried to enter the Maker’s golden city. Now, as fantastic as this seems, there is or was evidence supporting his claim and makes him one of the first darkspawn. Even if he was asleep in a Grey Warden prison for hundreds of years he could still influence the tainted around him, in my book that means he is very powerful. Otherwise, why wouldn’t the Grey Wardens have killed him? Was the organization too weak from the Blight? Did they just not know and were keeping him prisoner until they figured it out?_

_Hawke is good at killing people. Varric and his Bianca have plugged plenty of bad guys. And my Wardens kill lots of darkspawn and other miscreants. They said Corypheus was dead, blood spilling on the floor, no movement, lots of stab wounds in important parts, etc. I gotta believe them. However, now he isn’t. A former Commander of the Grey, Larius, was with them. He wandered in and was trapped when he entered the Deep Roads for his Calling. He should have been dead years before. Do you remember Ruck? He was just barely above ghoul status. The same happens to Grey Wardens if they don’t die in battle. We’re not immune to the taint; we just take a much longer time to succumb to it, thirty years if we’re lucky. Larius was in those depths long enough for the darkspawn to not even notice him. He must have been a strong Grey Warden once if he was able to talk even semi-coherently when he encountered Hawke._

_Ok, I can hear you telling me to get to the point already. Really, as a bard you should appreciate my giving you such background. There is a reason, my impatient friend. After Cory was cooling on the floor, Larius became more coherent. He said it was because he no longer heard Corypheus in his head. That could be true; both my Wardens said they also felt a difference. Larius was going to return to his former post and tell them what happened. He never made it. He could have changed his mind or bandits could have killed him. But. Two things occur to me: one is that Cory has an ability similar to the Archdemon and he transferred his essence? soul? into Larius. That makes a certain scary sense since Larius was probably more darkspawn than Grey Warden. The other thing is maybe he has the same magic as Flemeth; we thought we killed her once before, remember. We were wrong. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I kind of wish Morrigan was here to ask. She knows more about Flemeth than just about anybody._

_However he managed it, I believe this darkspawn daddy is the source of the troubles we Grey Wardens are having. If you learn anything, I’d appreciate a heads up. I’m glad the Inquisition has such a strong fortress at its disposal. Skyhold, it sounds like a the title of a song, doesn’t it? I bet you’ve already thought of that. Martelle is telling me that I promised to have tea with her and I should give you her love before I go. She is so bossy, just like her mother. I am a lucky, lucky man._

_Your friend and favorite Warden-Commander,_

_Alistair, one lucky bastard.”_

“He doesn’t sound like any of the Grey Wardens I’ve ever met,” Bragaara was studying the letter.

“Meredith didn’t like him. She didn’t think he was serious enough,” Cullen’s eyes twinkled. The late Knight-Commander said a great deal more than he was willing to repeat.

“He doesn’t _sound_ serious,” Cassandra snorted.

Josephine tapped her pen to her lip, “I daresay many people are fooled by his, let’s call it breezy, manner of speaking. Certainly, he provided us with a great deal of information though I do not believe it answers many of our questions. He raises questions that I find particularly disturbing. Morrigan, Morrigan, I have heard that name before,” she frowned while trying to remember.

“Flemeth? When did you battle the Witch of the Wilds?” Cullen wanted to know.

“This was during the Blight. Morrigan is an apostate who traveled with us; Flemeth was her mother. We discovered, rather she discovered, that Flemeth had plans to possess her body in order to prolong her own life. The Wardens decided that they didn’t want that to happen while they still had to deal with the Archdemon. I was with them when they confronted Flemeth,” Leliana explained calmly. “Celene has recently associated with an arcane advisor, a non-Circle mage whose description could be that of Morrigan. You may meet this advisor when we arrive at the Winter Palace; I hope to learn more about her before then.”

“I hope we don’t have to deal with Flemeth as well as Corypheus,” Cullen frowned.

Bragaara shrugged, “We’ll deal with whatever we have to deal with. I spoke to Hawke; she confirms what Alistair says, that Corypheus was dead on the floor. She has a Warden friend hiding in Crestwood, Stroud; she says he has information about the Grey Wardens in Orlais that might help us. She wants me to go with her to find him and bring him here. The Orlesian Wardens are searching for him as well.”

“Stroud is one of Alistair’s seconds. I trust him,” Leliana quietly offered.

“But I secured for you an invitation to the ball at the Winter Palace,” Josephine protested. “You have to attend; it is your best chance to warn Empress Celene she is in danger. If you don’t go, you will never be allowed to speak to her. Such an insult to Her Majesty will not go unnoticed or unpunished. You also risk losing the support of Orlesian nobles who do not wish to seem to be working against their Empress.” Bragaara frowned.

“I know Stroud. He and I are godparents to Alistair’s daughter. If you think it necessary I can write a letter for Hawke and Varric to take with them to Crestwood in case he needs further convincing. With luck, he will be here when we return from Halamshiral. I do not think it wise to leave him at risk longer than necessary. We also cannot count on you being able to get to Crestwood and back in time for the ball,” Leliana suggested.

“Nothing else goes as quickly or easily as it should,” the Inquisitor noted wryly. “I’ll go speak to Hawke and Varric. Maybe Solas and Bull can go with them.” They took care of a few more matters before disbanding to go about their various duties.

Leliana returned to her rookery and found Cole sitting near her desk, “She remembers me,” he said. “He even says I can visit but he doesn’t know me.”

“Yes. He loves her very much and you helped her, Alistair doesn’t forget such things. I don’t know what you are,” Leliana tilted her head thoughtfully, “but I think you have a good heart.”

“My heart is working but I don’t know why that matters,” Cole was confused. “This amuses you.”

The bard tried not to smile, “You remind me that I’ve had this conversation before. I mean you want to help people, take away their pain, not hurt them. It’s not always easy to do the right thing or help people; the important thing is to try.”

Cole nodded, “Yes, I try to heal the hurt. I understand, now.” He was gone.

Leliana blinked, “If you can hear me, thank you.” She smiled a little and got back to work, _“I would love to see Alistair’s face the first time Cole disappears like that.”_ A minute later, she forgot about the boy.


	143. Unexpected

“You are correct, my friend, this is an improvement over the cave in Crestwood,” Stroud remarked. He was quietly watchful when they reached Skyhold. He trusted the Champion and Leliana but recent experience had him looking for exits just in case.

“Ha, I’ll take a cave in Crestwood over a bunch of Orlesians in the Winter Palace. Gotta admit, it would be fun to see Buttercup among those fancy painted nobs. Do you think the Inquisitor can keep her from throwing pies in their faces or nicking the silver?” Varric chuckled.

Hawke looked sideways at her old friend, “Or she’ll encourage Sera in order to shake things up and see what dirt falls out.”

“Orlesian nobility is unlikely to let their masks slip for something so trivial. You are talking about people who will smile to your face while their associate stabs you in the back, literally,” Stroud quietly informed them. “People outside of Orlais frequently make fun of the Grand Game or trivialize it. That misjudgment is often fatal. Fortunately your Inquisitor has the accomplished and clever Leliana to advise her.”

“True, but don’t forget Ruffles,” Varric reminded them. “Never bet against an Antivan. Speaking of betting, ale and Wicked Grace in an hour?”

The Inquisitor returned a few days later. Stroud was meeting her soon but she and her advisors were taking care of a few matters at the war table. He wandered through the garden, trying to imagine what the little girl would do with the space. By his calculations, Skyhold could easily house two Vigils.

“Hello,” a young boy interrupted his musings. “Are you really a Grey Warden? I heard you were from Ferelden, do you know the Hero of Ferelden? Mother does, she fought with him and my father during the Blight but she doesn’t like to talk about it. Oh, I’m forgetting my manners my name is Kieran. I’m here with my mother; she’s going to help the Inquisitor. Have you met Inquisitor Adaar?”

Stroud studied the lad. He saw a boy, approximately ten years old, with a ready smile and open countenance. He reminded Stroud of Alistair. “I am pleased to meet you Kieran. Yes, I am a Grey Warden; you may call me Stroud. I was in the Free Marches during the Blight but transferred to Ferelden shortly thereafter so I do know the Hero of Ferelden; he is my Commander and a good man. I have not yet met the Inquisitor; I am to do so shortly. Perhaps you have some advice for me?”

“She’s Tal Vashoth, not Qunari. I only met her once but she was nice and took time to talk and ask me if I settled in okay even though she’s very busy. I don’t think she likes it when people don’t get to the point. I haven’t seen her lose her temper or anything; she stays polite but she seems more relaxed when they leave, as if she was holding her breath and finally let it out. She also doesn’t seem to like being called Andraste’s Herald,” Kieran narrowed his eyes in thought.

“Kieran! Kieran, where – ah, there you are,” a beautiful woman with dark hair, unusual gold eyes, and rather exotic attire joined them from the other side of the garden. “You, young man, are supposed to be studying,” she arched one eyebrow at her son.

“But Mother, this is Stroud, he’s a Grey Warden and he knows the Hero of Ferelden. You did tell me I needed to study the history of the Blight and I might never meet the Hero myself,” Kieran opened his eyes wide as he tried to convince her.

Morrigan’s countenance softened slightly and she murmured, “Clever boy.” She shook her head, “I would like a word with this Warden of yours. You haven’t finished cataloging the herbs in the garden, you can work on that while we speak and then, if Warden Stroud is willing, you may ask him about the Hero. Understood?”

“Yes Mother,” Kieran agreed with a sigh before turning to Stroud and smiling, “It was an honor to meet you, Warden Stroud. I hope we can speak later?” he asked with hope shining in his eyes.

“The honor is mine, young Kieran. I can tell you one thing before you go, the Hero is very fond of cheese and good cinnamon buns,” Stroud could practically feel Morrigan rolling her eyes.

Kieran beamed, “Me too,” he replied before running off.

“He will ask you questions until sun rises, if you let him. He has a slight case of hero worship where the Hero of Ferelden is concerned,” Morrigan said fondly.

“There are far worse individuals to admire; Alistair is a good man and a good leader. You should be proud of your son, he is well-mannered, intelligent, and observant,” Stroud replied.

“I am,” Morrigan smiled proudly as she watched her son. She turned and studied the Warden at her side, “You may call me Morrigan. How well do you know Alistair?”

The resemblance made sense now. Like many Wardens, he wondered how Alistair survived killing the Archdemon. The Commander’s theories made sense but he always sensed more, especially when he and little girl spoke of the apostate who studied old magics. They were easier when they talked about Morrigan during their earlier travels. _“It is far less complicated than the Grey Wardens of centuries past creating the Griffonsong.”_ He kept this revelation to himself as he considered the witch before he answered, “I am proud to serve as his second-in-command and privileged to be godfather to Alistair and the little girl’s daughter. They have told me much of their time during the Blight and your assistance, but they are somewhat reticent when they speak of the last few days.”

“Ah,” she responded but didn’t elaborate. She looked at the Warden sideways, gold eyes amused, “‘Little girl’? The toy has more nicknames than any I have ever encountered,” Morrigan snorted. “If nicknames were butterflies I’d say she has a large net permanently attached.”

Stroud smiled into his mustache, “This is truth.” The witch couldn’t help smiling slightly at hearing Jannasilane’s expression coming from the warrior. “I do not think I even know all of them; I am sure during her time at Haven she ‘collected’ several more.”

“I find myself . . . curious,” Morrigan admitted. “You said they have a daughter; they are well and happy then? I was not a friend as I might have been. I was arrogant and didn’t bother to revise my initial opinion nor keep it to myself. I have learned since that time.”

“Youth is something we all must learn from,” he said politely. “To answer your question, yes. They are happy. They married some years ago and have two sons in addition to their daughter. In spite of recent troubles, the Vigil is a happy place. He is a good and fair Commander and Arl and she is a good Arlessa to the people of Amaranthine. They are unconventional but effective. I know all at the Vigil are relieved she survived the attack on Haven, the people are very devoted and loyal to them both.”

“Good,” she answered. “I won’t keep you any longer, I see Kieran watching us impatiently. I told him his father died fighting the Blight, that he was a good man who tried to do the right thing, but little else,” she politely warned him.

“I shall not tread in difficult waters. What you divulge is up to you, that is not my decision or responsibility. Be well, Lady Morrigan,” Stroud nodded courteously.

“And you,” she replied before leaving to return to her own research.

The moment his mother was out of sight, Kieran ran to the Grey Warden’s side and began peppering him with questions about the Hero. He included a few general ones about the Blight, Grey Wardens, and darkspawn but it became obvious to Stroud that the boy wanted a father figure he could admire. He didn’t want to build a fantasy figure in the lad’s mind and made sure some of Alistair’s flaws were included in the stories he told. When Hawke found him he took his leave, “Young Kieran, I must go but before I do so I can tell you the same thing the Hero tells his own children, if you wish.” Kieran eagerly nodded, as Stroud suspected he might, “He reminds them that good people try to do the right thing no matter how difficult. They avoid hurting others as much as possible and judge people based on their character and actions, not the circumstance of their birth. Good people take responsibility for their actions and accept the consequences of their mistakes. I think he would have liked your father, based on the little I know of him. Certainly he has a great deal of respect for all who fought with the Wardens during the Blight.”

“Do you think the Hero would like me?” Kieran asked wistfully.

“Yes, I think he would like you a great deal,” Stroud answered solemnly. He and Hawke left the boy with a smile on his face. They climbed the battlements where Bragaara watched the world outside Skyhold’s walls. She turned around when they joined her, “Warden Stroud, Plushie, I mean the Lady Jannasilane, said good things about you. I regret I couldn’t come to Crestwood to meet you there. I understand you have some information?”

Hawke couldn’t help rolling her eyes, “Does anybody but Alistair call her by her name?”

“Very few,” Stroud admitted with a smile in his voice. “Inquisitor, I wish I had good news for you. The Grey Wardens are all hearing their Calling; rather they believe this is so. I do not. Now that I know Corypheus is no longer dead, I am convinced he is somehow behind it, that he is mimicking the Archdemon’s deadly siren song in order to trick the Wardens into doing something desperate. At Alistair’s behest, I went to see Warden-Commander Clarel of Orlais; we feared she might be acting on this false Calling. I had to escape when I was unable to deter her from her plans. I have spent time piecing together what I overheard at Montsimmard and examining several old maps. Inquisitor Adaar, I believe they are going to an old Tevinter tower in the Western Approach. They need to collect some specific items so we might, if we hurry, reach them before they go further. At the very least, we should find more of the exact nature of their plans. I know only they involve magic but if Corypheus is behind the Calling then I greatly fear what will come.”

“I don’t think we should delay, Inquisitor,” Hawke frowned. “We can go ahead and watch the tower until you arrive. They may be looking for you but I doubt they’ll notice us if we’re careful.”

The Inquisitor agreed, “I doubt I can leave before tomorrow morning, but I’ll try. The Wardens are too powerful a tool for Corypheus for us to do nothing. Let’s hope we can stop what’s going on before it comes to fruition.”

Stroud and Hawke were gone within the hour.

“ _Blood_ magic,” Hawke spat the words, “nothing good ever comes of it.” She looked around angrily at the corpses of Grey Wardens in the ruined tower. After the Inquisitor joined them in the Western Approach, they confronted the Wardens and the person directing them, Lord Livius Erimond, a particularly smarmy Tevinter magister. He escaped after setting his puppet Wardens and demons upon them.

“I’d like to send some of my pointier arrows at his face,” Sera wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Any tool can be turned to evil purpose,” Stroud replied wearily. He grieved to see his fellow Wardens used and sacrificed so easily. “Clarel feared there would be none left to defeat the next Blight. She probably felt betrayed and isolated; Alistair owed her a debt but did not come to her side and I am sure Venatori spies intercepted any letters she sent to Weisshaupt. I take no consolation in knowing we were correct in believing this a false Calling.”

“Well, now we know how Corypheus plans to get his demon army,” Inquisitor Bragaara hid the anger she felt behind a calm façade. “Where did that snake go? He said this was merely a test.”

“I believe they go to Adamant,” Stroud answered. “It is an old Grey Warden fortress and the only one of any size west of here. Desolate only begins to describe the area. In his arrogance, the magister said they were close to being ready. It will not take long for me to confirm.”

“Which means we may be in time to stop them,” Dorian’s nostrils flared angrily. “Erimond is a perfect example of the hated Tevinter stereotype. Worse, the man has absolutely no fashion sense. That alone should have precluded this Warden-Commander Clarel from listening to him.”

The Inquisitor shook her head, bright sun glinting off her horns, “Let’s go. Stroud, verify their destination and then, if you are correct, I need you to work with Commander Cullen on strategy.”

Stroud bowed slightly, “Fortunately, when I was a young Warden a small group of us followed the trail to Adamant. We stopped when we could see the ruin. It was a training exercise in endurance as much as anything. I willingly put my knowledge at your Commander’s disposal.”


	144. Adamant and the Warden’s Tragic Mistake

“Nothing ever goes as planned,” Hawke rubbed her head and sighed.

Stroud looked around with a slight frown, “Are we . . . . ?”

“In the Fade, the actual Fade? If that’s what you mean, then yes. I must say it looks much better in my dreams, where are the scantily clad and well-oiled young men peeling grapes? This must be the slums,” Dorian twirled the end of his mustache to hide his discomfort.

“Shit,” Blackwall grumbled.

“NO! N-n-n-n-o-o-o-o-oo,” Sera practically wailed. “It can’t be, no, no, nonono, this is stupid.”

Bragaara looked around, “This is where I was before, I think. That,” she pointed, “looks like the way out. I don’t know about you but I don’t think standing around here is a good idea.” Her companions agreed so they began plodding their way through the Fadescape.

Stroud said little. Adamant and Clarel weighed heavily upon him. He recognized some of the Wardens fighting them; they were from the Free Marches. That meant he would find more among the dead, people he recruited, trained, fought and bled with. He hoped they did get out; he wanted vengeance on Corypheus for using the Wardens and creating such fear among hardy warriors. He blamed Clarel, in part, for not listening to him and for considering such a drastic plan, no matter how afraid she was. _“Did pride make her more vulnerable? Her ready assistance was not so politely rebuffed by Loghain and she, along with all the Wardens in Orlais and the Free Marches, were forced to wait and prepare for the larger horde coming their way. Even I was stung, all my years of hard work and the battles I fought were merely preparation. We trained to defeat the Archdemon. Never did we want another Blight but to be forced to watch it grow in strength because of one man’s blindness? Folly and madness. Did that sliver of frustration and discontent fester without her realizing, making her more prone to listen to the Tevinter snake? Regardless she has paid the price; she is in the hands of the Maker and will have to answer to him.”_

Unexpected help interrupted his thoughts. “You need to recover your memories before you can leave,” ‘Divine Justinia’ told the Inquisitor. Wraiths guarded the memories, locked inside floating balls.

“You alright, Brags?” Sera asked after the Inquisitor recovered her first memories.

Adaar shook her head and rolled her shoulders, “That was . . . odd. There are still pieces missing but at least I know what to expect next time. The sooner we can get out of here the better.”

Unfortunately, the Nightmare now focused attention on them. He taunted them, he sent his Fearlings after them. He tapped into their minds and the Fearlings took the shape of what each of them feared. “Spiders! Why is it always spiders?” Hawke complained.

“You see spiders? That’s not what I’m seeing,” Blackwall grimaced. Sera was trying not to babble. The group pressed on. It was either that or give in to the Nightmare’s despair, something none of them was willing to do.

The Nightmare continued mocking and sneering at them, “Blackwall, the warrior who is nothing like a Warden, nothing at all.” “Sera, the elf who isn’t.” “Hawke, such a Champion. You couldn’t save Kirkwall or your family. Your mother died because you didn’t get to her fast enough . . . or because you were just too busy making yourself important.”

“Do not listen to it, Champion. You must not, any of you, let the creature insinuate itself into your thoughts and make you doubt yourself,” Stroud urged.

“Ah, Stroud,” the Nightmare purred. “You finally speak. Tell me, does your Commander know you lust after his woman? She has so much passion. Too much for one man? How does your desire for a woman who belongs to another square with your sense of honor?”

“Little girl would cut out your eyeballs and feed them to a darkspawn if she heard you refer to her as property,” Stroud laughed, confusing the Nightmare. He drew his eyebrows together angrily, “I will not listen to you rant on about things beyond your comprehension. Begone, demon!”

“As if Alistair has time to worry about all the men who think Janna is attractive and desirable,” Hawke rolled her eyes, “just as she doesn’t bother worrying about the women who swoon over him.”

“Handsome man, then,” Dorian twirled the ends of his mustache.

“If you like big, blond, strong men with warm, crinkly hazel eyes and a ready smile,” Tambra replied. Their banter would have been amusing elsewhere, but in the Fade, it thudded flatly against the miasma of despair surrounding them.

At last, Inquisitor Bragaara recovered all her memories. “The Wardens killed the Divine,” she said grimly. Stroud ground his teeth but otherwise remained stoic while the others were more vocal.

Hawke turned to him. “You’re not saying anything, you don’t even seem surprised,” she accused.

“I assumed they were under Corypheus’ sway, as were those in Adamant,” Stroud retorted.

“We’re running out of time, save your bickering for later,” the Inquisitor reminded them. They began running for the exit, the rift that led to their world and out of the Fade.

“Did you think you could escape my domain so easily?” the Nightmare sneered, finally showing them it’s shape, a horrific compilation of spiders and eyes and other nightmare things nobody wished to identify.

“Oh shit, we can’t get past,” Sera exclaimed.

“I will command its attention while you escape.” Stroud looked at Bragaara Adaar, “Inquisitor, it has been an honor.” He bowed slightly.

“No, I should stay,” Hawke protested. “Corypheus is my fault.”

Stroud shook his head, “A Grey Warden should rectify a Grey Warden mistake. No, this is what Wardens train for, so others may live. I have been a Warden for many years and this is my duty. Tell . . . I ask only one thing of you, Champion, a promise. I left a small parcel with Leliana in case I didn’t survive. She was to forward it to Amaranthine but I ask you to deliver it in person and tell Alistair and little girl . . . tell them that my years in Amaranthine were my greatest privilege and my greatest joy.”

Tambra’s eyes were suspiciously bright, “I promise. I will do so the minute we are out of here, you have my word. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“This place does none of us any favors,” he replied. “All of you, go, live, and destroy Corypheus.”

“With pleasure,” Bragaara grimly answered. “We have to go, NOW.” Stroud readied his blade and rushed at the demon. He slashed its underbelly while the Inquisitor ran around it and raced towards the rift. They dove into the opening while Stroud battled behind them. Once they were on proper ground again, the Inquisitor sealed the rift. She looked around at the Wardens and the Inquisition forces still standing and waiting.

“Where’s Warden-Constable Stroud?” one of the younger Wardens asked.

The Inquisitor bowed her head a moment before answering. Everybody around became still and quiet, waiting for the answer they didn’t want to hear. Adaar stepped onto a small wall to better address the small crowd around her, “Warden Stroud was a true Grey Warden. I would not be here, none of us would be here, if he didn’t sacrifice himself in the Fade to prevent the monstrosity your folly, Clarel’s folly, from coming through to our world. I am proud to have known him even for such a short time.”

The Wardens hung their heads in shame. They realized the full extent of their actions and how easily they allowed the Tevinter to manipulate them. After a few moments, one of them had the courage to ask the question they were all thinking, “We have no senior Wardens among us, no leadership, what happens now?”

“You certainly can’t stay here. You’re still vulnerable to Corypheus and the Venatori . . . you should leave southern Thedas. Champion,” the Inquisitor turned to Hawke, “will you escort these ‘Wardens’ to Weisshaupt? Somebody needs to explain what happened here.”

“I promised to go to Vigil’s Keep. We’ll take the Ferelden route and then we can take a boat from the City of Amaranthine. If I can ask for a handful of templars to accompany us they can begin teaching the meditation exercises Alistair implemented and give Clarel’s Wardens help against any Venatori we meet on the way.”

“That’s Commander Clarel to you, _Champion,_ ” one Orlesian Warden sneered. Those around him shifted uncomfortably.

“The Hero of Ferelden? Do you think we can stay with him?” the young Warden who spoke earlier asked.

Bragaara shrugged, “That isn’t my decision to make. He was smart enough not to be a part of this mess but if he doesn’t take you, you go to Weisshaupt.”

“You may not have much choice,” Hawke warned the young man. “Not only was Stroud a trusted advisor he was a close personal friend to the Commander and his wife. They even named him godfather to their daughter.”

“Wardens die. It’s what we do, they should be used to it,” the sneering Orlesian shrugged dismissively.

Hawke controlled her anger, but it wasn’t easy. “Accepting his death doesn’t mean they can’t or shouldn’t mourn his loss, especially a loss due to another Warden’s stupidity or foolishness. I am quite confident that **you** _will_ be going to the Anderfels.”

“That jumped up bastard is no hero of mine -”

“Open your mouth one more time and nobody will stop me from sending a fireball down your throat,” Hawke warned him.

“Not if my arrow gets there first,” Sera had bow in one hand and arrow in the other, her fingers itched to shut the fool up. “We lost a serious ‘stache today and you don’t get a say in anything.” Not a single Warden moved to help their comrade. Instead, they moved away from him, leaving a clear path for the mage and the archer.

“He’s going to need watching,” Bragaara quietly commented to Hawke. I’ll send a small squad of Inquisition soldiers with you as well as any templars Cullen can spare. They’ll stay with you until you’re on board and they see the ship sail. By then, his companions should be sufficient guard. They don’t look too happy with him.”

“There’s always one,” Hawke muttered. She smiled tiredly at the Inquisitor, “Thanks. I have to stop by Skyhold to get that package from Leliana but I’ll be as fast as possible. I don’t look forward to breaking the news to Alistair and Janna.” Bragaara nodded in understanding.

Fiona, with the Inquisitor’s permission and promise to return with the Inquisition forces, joined her on the journey to Vigil’s Keep. Tambra was curious but the Wardens, especially the one she mentally dubbed ‘the One who Sneers’, kept her too busy to ask questions. She stopped them when the Vigil was just barely in view, “Wait here. I’ll go ahead so the guards on the ramparts have a chance to recognize me. Seventy-plus troops are rather a large armed force to just stroll through the gates.”

“I’m coming with you,” Fiona calmly stated. She and an Inquisition standard-bearer walked with Hawke, Inquisition banner flying high, and walked to Vigil’s Keep.

Once they recognized the Champion, the guards informed the Commander. The gates slowly opened to reveal the Hero of Ferelden standing alone in the courtyard, arms crossed. Tambra saw Alistair in a new light, for the first time she realized just how intimidating and powerful he could be without saying or doing anything, just by being. He wasn’t Alistair; he was a Commander of the Grey and the Hero of Ferelden. She steadied a sudden case of nerves and approached him slowly, “I have n-news, we should talk privately. Janna, too.”


	145. A Warden’s Final Words

Alistair waited a beat and then sighed, “I knew today wasn’t going to be a good one. Lane is uncharacteristically cranky and my Janna’s in a mood.” He uncrossed his arms, “Hello, Fiona, I’m glad to see you looking well. Umm, are you part of the news or . . .”

“No, I took this opportunity to see you and ‘your' Janna. I’ll be returning soon,” Fiona smiled softly. “The Champion’s news is of higher priority and I have no desire to interfere in your business.”

“And . . . that small army is with you?”

“Just for now,” Tambra explained. “I’ll explain.”

“Huh,” the Commander replied elegantly. He motioned to a couple of his men. “Please escort – I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” he apologized to the standard-bearer.

“D-dreytonne, Commander, Hero, sir,” the young soldier replied in surprise.

“Really, Dreytonne? I like it, unusual but strong. Well, Dreytonne, my men are going to escort you back to your troops out there and then take you all to some of our training grounds near Felsi’s place. You can set up camp quite comfortably and if you don’t get on her bad side, she might even cook for you. Will that suffice?” The young man nodded wordlessly, surprised that _the Hero of Ferelden_ and _Commander of the Grey_ and _Arl of Amaranthine_ was so, well, friendly. Especially after intimidating him, them, when they walked into the courtyard. His little sister back in Orlais was going to be so jealous. He couldn’t wait to tell her.

“Fiona, do you mind hanging around a bit while I talk to Tambra? I know you’re not a Warden anymore but I’m sure you could use food and a comfortable chair after being on the road for so long. Hawke can take you to the dining hall while I look for Janna. Oh, and you’ll stay at the Vigil while you’re in Amaranthine, won’t you?”

Fiona nodded her head, “I would like that very much, Alistair, thank you.”

“That’s settled then. Hawke, we’ll talk in my office; I’ll meet you there.” Alistair’s smile faded the moment he turned his back on the two women to find his wife.

That was hours ago. Telling Martelle her godfather was dead was the hardest thing Alistair had ever done. Watching his precious Martypants sobbing uncontrollably in her mother’s arms until exhaustion forced her to sleep simply broke his heart, Jannasilane’s too. While his wife watched over their daughter, he tracked down their sons. It didn’t take long; he just had to follow the noise. Duncan was yelling at his baby brother and Lane, well, the normally cheerful Lane was having a full-blown tantrum worse than his older siblings were together. Even Tina was at her wit’s end. By the time Alistair was done, both boys were quietly sitting guard outside their sister’s room. The younger boy didn’t remember Stroud very well, but he did understand Martelle was upset. One thing he and Duncan were alike in was their love and protective feelings for their big sister.

Now, now, Alistair was holding the package of letters. He turned it over before going back to their bedroom where he thought he’d find Janna. He frowned, _“Where is she?”_ he wondered. _“She didn’t look at me when I left her with Martelle. In fact, she seemed to deliberately keep her face turned away from me.”_ He noticed Nugflutter and Starphire staring at him from the corner next to the door closing off access to her tower. “Is my Janna up there?” he asked. The little dog barked and the cat blinked, he presumed in the affirmative. “I don’t think she should be up there alone. If you don’t mind, I’m going to join her,” he told them. _“I hope I’m doing the right thing,”_ he thought as he climbed the ladder.

Jannasilane practically stuffed her fist into her mouth to muffle the keening sounds she could no longer control. Jean-Marc’s death hit her hard, much harder than she ever would have guessed. She didn’t want Alistair to see her like this. _“It’s not fair, it’s not fair, not fair,”_ she yelled in her head. What wasn’t fair she couldn’t say, whether it was Stroud’s sacrifice to fix another Warden’s tremendous error, her Ali knowing how much she mourned another man’s death, or her Martelle crying herself to sleep, or something she didn’t want to admit.  

When her husband’s strong arms wrapped around she tried to pull away but all she could do was hide her face behind her hair. “I was jealous of him, you know,” he said quietly. “Not all the time, but sometimes I would catch a look between you or see him with you and Martelle. I admit I sometimes get jealous when another man pays attention to you, but that’s more of an irritation when he is being too persistent in his admiration. You are a beautiful woman and a man would be crazy not to notice. No, Stroud was different. He was our friend but with him, I could see you building a life with him instead of me, more easily as the Beast slowed down. Well, if we weren’t together I could see it. I know you love me; I never doubted that for one minute. It’s just, it’s just that I could see you loving him that way if things were different. He was in love with you, you know.”

“Stupid man,” she sniffled, “you are my always and my love. He was a good man and he deserved love in return. It’s not fair.”

“Well, I admit I wouldn’t like it if you did love him back like that. I kind of like being your only always,” he drawled.

“Stupid man,” Jannasilane repeated but she did raise her head. She pushed her hair out of her face and wiped tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand, like a child. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Alistair looked into her tear-stained face, “You mean crying because a good friend is dead? Or,” he said slowly as another thought came to him, “or mourning another man you did love, at least a little?” He considered it a moment, “I’m not surprised, not really, I never thought about how you must have felt about him when I was the First’s ‘guest.’ I didn’t want to,” he admitted. “It was difficult enough to get past the fact that I didn’t even have the chance to be Martelle’s real father. Ironic that he’s the one who helped me get out of my funk. I hate to think of you isolated from all our friends and not knowing who to trust. I think, I think I’d be more surprised if you didn’t care for the one person who helped you out in so many ways.”

Jannasilane watched him closely but didn’t say anything. Alistair waited but when she still didn’t speak he continued, “You know what’s odd about our group during the Blight? It’s not that we became so close; it’s that those friendships continued strong after the Blight was over and we followed different paths. The tension keeping us together was gone. Fergus once told me that usually people who were great buddies while fighting together, after the fighting was over, went their separate ways and rarely thought of their ‘good buddies’ except as a fond memory during a difficult time.”

“You call Morrigan a fond memory?” she snickered slightly.

“Wench,” he retorted, relieved the storm was lessening if not passing.

Jannasilane shifted so she was kneeling in front of him. She grasped his hands and studied them, marveling at their size and strength and how gentle they could be. She brought them to her lips and held them against her cheek, “I love you, my Ali, my always, but you are correct. A corner of my heart loves and mourns Jean-Marc. I did not wish to shame you by letting you see this; this is truth. I most certainly do not wish to bring shame to you by letting others see how much I grieve. You do not deserve the disrespect and he would not approve; this is also truth.”

All right, hearing her say what he secretly suspected for so long hurt. Conversely, he felt relieved they could talk about her feelings from such a complicated time. She wouldn’t be his Janna if, after what they shared while he was imprisoned up north, she could consider the man ‘just a friend.’ He rubbed his thumb against her soft skin, “You are not a cold woman, thank the Maker. I wish you were never in that position, but it is what it is. Tambra wasn’t just talking sympathetic words; I know that Jean-Marc was happy here. Never once did either of you give me cause to regret my decision to make him my second. I can hardly blame him for loving you; I would only have blamed him for dishonoring the connection you and I share after I returned. He never did.”

“He respected and admired you a great deal, my Ali,” she softly replied. “He considered that first time when the Beast was clamoring as crossing a line that should never have been crossed. He was ashamed of his desire for another man’s woman, especially yours. He thought to burn out his unfortunate attraction before your return.”

“I thought I was the idiot,” Alistair couldn’t help remarking.

She ignored him, “I had my own reasons for agreeing but I was honest with him, I told him that you were the man I loved and you were more important to me than anything or anyone. That is how it began, the Beast, shared shame, and acceptance of the temporary,” she shrugged self-deprecatingly.

“Janna,” he began but she stopped him with her finger on his lips.

“No, my Ali, I love you. Your, your acceptance of my condition and your willingness to come up with a solution we could both live with means more to me than you will ever understand. If I didn’t already adore you, I would do so for that alone, but you can’t make me change how I feel when I am with another. Only with Rio did I not feel any shame because we were not together.”

“Don’t remind me of how badly I acted,” he begged. He thought about what she said and frowned, “So all these years when sometimes Blake or Nathaniel or . . . I knew it bothered you but I didn’t realize just how much. You should have told me.”

“To what end? So you can worry about me whenever . . . ?” she asked tiredly. “My Time will soon end, I think, and retire the Beast. Certainly, within the next couple of years. It is dormant more often for increasingly longer periods. Knowing this makes it easier to speak about how I feel, have felt. I think,” she frowned and tilted her head thoughtfully, “I think that my relationship with Stroud, because it started in shame, made it easier to purge some of my older feelings from previous encounters. In a way, I felt somebody was finally punishing me for bad behavior. Does that make any sense?”

“Come here, my love,” Alistair didn’t wait for her to comply. He pulled her into his embrace and just held her. He didn’t think he would ever fully understand his beautiful, complicated, passionate Janna but he thanked the Maker for putting her in his life. He nuzzled her hair and waited for her to relax completely against him. When she did, he finally told her the reason he came looking for her, “I brought Stroud’s papers; I thought we could read them together, or at least begin to look through them. We can wait until later, if you prefer.”

Jannasilane thought about it for several moments. She shook her head and shifted so she leaned against his side, “No, let us look at them now. Martelle may have questions to which only these documents hold answers. I would feel better knowing now rather than later, this is truth.”

“He was a smart man, even if Leliana’s curiosity got the better of her the contents would disintegrate before she could read them. I wonder if this is why he took one of our lock runes, they are kind of expensive. Hmm, three letters and what looks like a journal. I’ll put that aside, maybe the letters will tell us more about it. Let’s see, one letter for me, one for you, and one for you and Martelle,” he handed those to his wife and manfully suppressed his curiosity, sure she would tell him about them later. He began reading his letter.

_“Commander, and dare I presume to say friend,”_ Alistair snorted, Orlesians were so formal. He included Riordan in that category after the man spent so many years in Orlais.

_“Soon we go to Adamant and I doubt very much that I will return. I leave letters and a journal with Leliana in the event my forebodings bear true; two letters are primarily for little girl, one of which can be shared with Martelle if the two of you decide to tell her the truth of her conception. I am not asking you to do this, but merely wish her to know, if you do tell her one day, how much watching her grow has meant to me and how fortunate she is to have two such loving parents. To clarify, I mean you and her mother. I am quite safe in assuming little girl will share the contents of both with you. The journal holds no secrets; it is stories and anecdotes from my life before and after becoming a Grey Warden that my goddaughter will, I hope, appreciate. At least I can go to the Maker knowing I have done as much as I can for her._

_Alistair, we have never spoken of this, but I am sure you suspect my feelings for your wife go beyond friendship. You are an intelligent man and where little girl is concerned you are particularly observant. I, however, would never have made her happy as you have. Knowing this has made it easy to be content knowing she does not return or even desire my love. I am satisfied with your friendship and trust, and being a part of your family as Martelle’s godfather makes me in terms happy, humbled, and grateful. Watching the joy you share is a beautiful pleasure and I am not alone in this. You are a better man and more generous than I could hope if our situation were reversed. Thank you for allowing me to be your second, and thank you for trusting me enough to be Martelle’s godfather. I rather miss that she has grown enough to rarely call me ‘Twodaddy.’”_

Alistair stopped reading to think about Stroud’s words. He felt the older Warden was giving him too much credit, would he have been as happy to watch his love being happy with another man, no matter how worthy? _“Probably not,”_ he admitted to himself. It was weird reading about another man’s love for his wife, but Stroud did confirm suspicions he had over the years. He continued reading.

_“After leaving the cave in Crestwood, I had some time in Skyhold to examine the fortress. It is easily double the size of Vigil’s Keep and much older. I indulged myself while waiting for Inquisitor Adaar to return from the Winter Palace and spoke to the masons and general workers whose efforts even Master Voldrik would approve. Skyhold may predate the fall of Arlathan by some centuries, it is a most fascinating place and one I believe you would enjoy visiting at some point. Be careful with little girl for surely she will get lost._

_I do not know what others have reported, but events at the Winter Palace did not go smoothly for the Inquisition. Grand Duke Gaspard was claiming he was the rightful ruler of Orlais and the ball was an opportunity for the two parties to make peace. Unfortunate for the Duke, his sister was a much better player of the Game than either he or Empress Celene. She orchestrated the ball and peace talks so that she could assassinate the Empress and implicate her brother in the plot. Grand Duchess Florianne was only partly successful. The Empress, as you are aware, lives. The Grand Duke, however, does not. The Inquisitor successfully prevented the assassination and killed Florianne before the woman could return to her master, Corypheus himself. I believe you would say the old magister has his fingers in many a pie._

_While waiting to speak to the Inquisitor about the Wardens, I strolled through the gardens and met a young boy, Kieran, who seemed familiar. He eagerly introduced himself and began asking me about the Hero of Ferelden. In case you forgot, this is you. He did not have the opportunity to ask many questions before his mother approached us. I believe you know her, Morrigan, your former traveling companion and more recently the Empress’ Arcane Advisor. She is a most beautiful and exotic woman. She sent her son to study the herbs in the garden so we could speak privately._

_First, you should know that she regrets not being a better friend during the Blight and seemed quite pleased that you and little girl are happy and thriving. Second, her son has a case of hero worship for, appropriately enough, the Hero of Ferelden. He knows little of his father except he was a good man who died helping the Wardens defeat the Blight. He resembles his mother greatly but to one who knows the father well and cares to observe the boy closely one can easily see the father in the son._

_I have been a Warden more than a decade longer than you and I wondered, along with many of my brethren in the Free Marches, how you survived the Archdemon. Your templar background is plausible to some but now I am satisfied I know the truth. It is far less strange than the Wardens’ efforts centuries ago to save the griffons._

_After we finished speaking, a conversation of allusion and unspoken statements, she was satisfied as to my discretion and allowed Kieran to question me about Grey Wardens, darkspawn, the Blight, but mostly you. He loves his mother but he clearly desires a father figure and in his mind you are the one to fill that role. He is a delightful child, well-mannered, intelligent, curious, observant, charming, and outgoing. I would be proud to call him son, and I believe any man should be as well. I made sure to present you as a man with virtues and faults in order not to build an unrealistic image. I am not sure how successful I was in reducing the Hero of Ferelden to the status of ordinary man, but I did try. He also loves cheese and cinnamon buns. He was very happy when I told him I thought you would like him._

_Now for more grim tidings; Hawke and I scouted the Grey Wardens in the Western Approach. When the Inquisitor joined us, we confronted them and a Tevinter magister, a Venatori worm who made my skin crawl. He sneered at us, confident that we could do nothing to stop his plans. He confirmed he was with Clarel when I arrived, that he was the advisor in the other room when she arrested me. He convinced Clarel that they could prevent all future Blights with one bold and extreme move: a blood magic ritual in which our warriors would sacrifice themselves so our mages could bind a demon to them. Ostensibly, these demons could sweep the Deep Roads without rest, hunting down and killing the remaining Archdemons and darkspawn. He conveniently failed to mention to her that the mages involved are forever bound to Corypheus’ will. Alistair, I was sickened when he commanded the small group of mages who just bound demons to attack us. Every demon was a former brother, every blank-faced mage a former comrade. I am glad you were not there._

_We know they go to Adamant for the main ritual. This was just a test run. What worries me isn’t just that Corypheus is turning Wardens into demons for his personal army; it’s wondering why he needs to have the Wardens under his control afterwards. I very much doubt it is merely to prevent them from coming after him._

_Before I leave, I want you to know serving under your command has been my greatest privilege and honor since becoming a Grey Warden. You are a great leader and deserve all the respect and loyalty offered by the denizens of Vigil’s Keep and the citizens of Amaranthine. My years in Amaranthine have provided me with the greatest joy and satisfaction since becoming a Grey Warden._

_Your humble servant,_

_Jean-Marc Stroud, proud Warden-Constable of Ferelden”_

The Warden-Commander took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He stared up at the sky and thought about everything in the letter.

Jannasilane’s letter was much shorter.

_“Dearest little girl,_

_I write this in the likely event I do not return from Adamant and so take the liberty of telling you how much you mean to me. I never said the words because it wasn’t my place. Now, with the end of things nigh, I say them to you; I love you. I treasure the short time we were together and do not begrudge the fact you are with Alistair. He makes you happy and he is the right man for you, and this I could never be. If you blessed me with your love, I would soon destroy any happiness we might have for I am a possessive man. I am not capable of giving you what you need. That is my lack, not yours; and so, I am very happy for you. Knowing we were never going to create a future together made me appreciate our brief connection in a way I would not have done under other circumstances. I can tell you I am at peace with how we left things; this is truth. That you freely give me your friendship is a testament to your generous spirit and honors me beyond all desserts._

_Observing your happiness over the years gives me great joy and warms me when I am most alone. Even more than our time at the Vigil, the moments I treasure are the perfection of your beauty when we said goodbye on the way to Amaranthine, Martelle’s birth, your wedding, when you asked me to be Martelle’s godfather, and the many times she and I had tea together. Conventional wisdom tells the Grey Wardens to keep an emotional distance in order to make the hard decisions. After serving under Alistair and watching the two of you together, I have my doubts. That aloofness might work best for some, but I am no longer sure it should be a standing guideline for the Order._

_I do not know if you will tell Martelle the truth. That is a decision only her parents can make. If you and Alistair decide she should know, then I wrote her a letter so she understands how much she means to me and how lucky she is that Alistair is her father. I wrote the journal while I was holed up in a Crestwood cave with very little to do. I wrote about my parents, growing up in Orlais, stories before and after I became a Grey Warden. I thought Martelle might like to know more about her godfather some day. You might also find some of the anecdotes amusing._

_With great love, respect, and affection,_

_Your Jean-Marc”_

Jannasilane couldn’t even look at his letter to their daughter until her tears stopped falling. Alistair was still reading his much longer letter so she had time to compose herself. Martelle’s letter was much as he said, and she resolved to keep it safe until she was older, when she and Alistair would make their decision. She opened Jean-Marc’s journal, picking a page at random and started to read.

“His name is Kieran,” she looked at her beloved Ali. He was looking into the distance with a strange expression on his face. His hand, the one holding his letter, was trembling.

“Who?” she asked softly and stroked his shaking arm.

Alistair turned to her and blinked. His eyes were shiny with unshed tears, “My son, Morrigan’s son, Stroud met him in Skyhold. I wondered, you know, what he was like. Whenever you were pregnant, or one of the boys did something new or it was just their nameday, even on the anniversary of when we did . . . it. I wondered. I half-expected a monster with wavy tentacles and fiery breath but he’s not. Morrigan is a much better mother than I would have guessed. She, erm, she told Kieran that his father was a good man who died helping the Blight. Meaning me, I’m the good man, though I didn’t die. Jean-Marc said the boy asked lots of questions about me and he likes cheese. He said, he said Kieran is a boy that any man would be proud to call son. I’ll never know him, this wonderful boy.”

“That’s good, isn’t it, my Ali? You can stop worrying,” Jannasilane soothed.

“Stop worrying?” Alistair snorted, “I’ll always worry, and wonder. But at least now I can worry about normal dad stuff, not creepy demon/Flemeth stuff.” He put his hand over her smaller one and then kissed her palm. “Well, I have plenty of time to think or worry about Kieran later. How are you feeling, my love?” He gazed into her face, looking for any signs of distress.

“I am glad we looked at his letters now, my Ali,” she answered him seriously. “I knew he loved me and it made me sad he continued to do so instead of finding it elsewhere. I worried he was lonely,” she frowned slightly. “He told me, well, you can read for yourself, but he was glad you and I are together. I do not like being reminded that one day I will grieve even more for you,” She gave him the letters and shifted so she could lie on his chest, one arm embracing her while he read the other two letters.

“We still have some years left, my love. We just need to remember to make the most of them rather than worry about what we cannot change.” He laid his cheek against her hair and began reading. When he was done, he carefully folded them with the first page of his letter. He kissed the top of her head, “We should keep these safe. The best thing would be to destroy yours and mine, but I can’t bring myself to do so, not yet. Your chest has a very good lock; can we keep them in there? I told you Stroud was a smart man; the second page of my letter is Grey Warden stuff and can go with my papers after sharing some of his concerns with my advisors. Looks like Corypheus is still going to be a problem for Wardens even though he won’t get his demon army.”

Very carefully, she placed them in her chest and locked them away. They still mourned but were more at peace when they descended the ladder to rejoin their family and responsibilities.

Later that night, when they were alone in their bedroom once again, Alistair gave in to temptation. “My love,” he caressed her warm, abundant, and naked curves pressed against his side, “what, erm, what was it like? W-with S-Str-Stroud? I know it’s none of my business and probably really bad timing; if there’s ever a good time for such a question.” He stared intently at the ceiling rather than look into her face. He refused to acknowledge even to himself that he was blushing miserably.

Jannasilane sat up, her jaw dropping in astonishment while she stared at her red-faced warrior. She shook her head in disbelief, “Why do you ask now, my Ali; it has been many years?”

Now he sat up and looked at her sheepishly, “Because then I would have had to look at him after you told me, if you told me. I don’t know if I could have done that.”

She snorted. “Do you really wish to know?” she asked, still disbelieving he even asked the question.

“Umm, yes?” he admitted.

“Well,” she straddled him so he couldn’t get away, “he was not a better lover than you, my wonderful warrior, if you were worried.” She watched him closely and realized that was one small doubt behind his question. She sighed, “I cannot imagine a better or more generous lover than you; this is truth. Jean-Marc was skilled but quite different. I will try to explain without going into details.”

“Please, no details are fine with me,” Alistair was beginning to regret he asked the question even though he still wanted the answer.

“Do you remember after we killed the high dragon in Haven?” she asked, blushing at the memories. He nodded and swallowed. “Well, Jean-Marc was much more comfortable in that area than we were. In fact,” she chewed her lip thoughtfully, “I think now that it, um, matched very well his desire, or need, to be in control, to dominate in intimate moments.”

“Did he hurt you?” her husband was serious now.

She moved her shoulders slightly, “That first time was the farthest he went in that direction . . . the Beast was clamoring and he was punishing us both. The Beast didn’t care and I, I admit I did not care either. Not then. I felt he treated me as I deserved. No,” she put her finger on his lips before he could speak, “it is what I felt. Any temporary pain or discomfort could not begin to compare to my feelings of failure. He did no damage or hurt me or mark me, other than some minor bruises. I told you he was familiar in that area; he made sure not to go too far and . . . he asked me the same questions you did after Soldier’s Peak, when we returned from Weisshaupt.”

“Did he? That’s good, I think,” Alistair frowned. He looked closely at his Janna, “And you liked it?”

“To be honest, I think if he approached me differently that first night, if he had been gentle or seductive or even matter-of-fact, we could not have become friends. You would never punish me for any of my failures because you do not see that I have reason to feel shame,” she watched him to see if he understood. Alistair slowly nodded; he didn’t think she should berate herself for that aspect of her heritage, since there was nothing she could do to change it. She continued, “It is more fair to say I didn’t believe I deserved anything else and so felt a . . . a satisfaction. He could be gentle, on his terms, of course,” she added with a small almost-smile. “I never told him, but when he was gentle or simply less dominating, I missed you even more. And that made me feel bad on his behalf so I preferred when he was more controlling even if some of what he liked I did not.”

“You’re beginning to make my head spin,” her husband complained. “I don’t think I could be that way with you, I found that out after you challenged the high dragon and my anger released a darker edge that makes me uncomfortable. Mostly,” he added.

“You have your moments,” her eyes darkened in pleasant memory, and Alistair felt his manhood twitching against her bottom. She squirmed against him, “I like what we have, my Ali, a partnership where we are equal even when one of us cedes control to the other. I would never trade that for something I could have with anyone else. Love makes it even better and more precious.”

Alistair flipped them so she was under him, “I agree completely.” He braceleted her hands above her head and spoke softly against her hair, “So, my beautiful, complicated, passionate, surprising wife and _love partner_ , is there anything you learned from that time you’d like me to try?” His eyes crossed when, after a moment, she shyly whispered in his ear. He gulped, he shuddered, and he kissed her. Then he replied, “I think I can do that.”


	146. Wardens, Wardens, Wardens

“You don’t need to do this, you know,” Alistair was arguing with Jannasilane.

“You know I can help,” Jannasilane replied stubbornly.

“Normally, yes; I don’t think this counts as normal,” he retorted in exasperation. They were on the way to one of the smaller rooms where Alistair planned to interview some of the Orlesian Wardens one at a time. He wasn’t sure he wanted any of them to remain but he felt honor-bound to listen. _“I can certainly understand why some of them don’t want to go to Weisshaupt. I’m not sure they understand just how difficult it will be for them here where so many liked and respected Stroud, and that’s just among their fellow Wardens. I can’t take more than a handful if I take any. More would be too disruptive.”_

Jannasilane stopped him, “My Ali, I know you wish to protect me but I can do this. Besides, I want to get a sense of these people who might be living and working here. Martelle is going to be upset if any of them stay; I can at least try and sense which of them might be less uncomfortable for her.”

“For her or for you?”

“That is not -” Jannasilane caught herself before finishing her answer. She huffed before admitting, “Both, maybe.”

Alistair stared down at his beloved, “To be honest, all three of us. You know, I changed my mind, if you’re willing to meet them then I want you there.” Neither said anymore until they reached the temporary ‘interview room’ as Alistair dubbed the small room where Lieutenant Garevel, Nathaniel, and Saykor waited. Sigrun was also inside, lounging against the wall behind Nate. “Well, I suppose we should get started, it’s going to be a long morning.” The dwarf lazily saluted and left to retrieve the first candidate.

Nathaniel glanced sideways at his Commander, “Do you think Sigrun is the best choice for an escort? You know she will needle them and maybe pick their pockets. She respected Stroud.”

“Do you think Oghren would be better?” Alistair smirked. Nate just rolled his eyes and Garevel coughed into his hand. “I’m counting on her to do just that, though maybe not the pickpocket part. She’ll illustrate what they’ll be facing better than anything I can say. They’ll also be less composed when they face us.”

“You are so devious, my Ali,” Jannasilane blinked at him from the chair she curled up in.

Alistair was right; it was a long morning. Not all the waiting Wardens from Adamant wanted to stay in Ferelden; they wanted the opportunity to express their apologies personally or just to meet the Hero of Ferelden. They knew they wouldn’t have another opportunity to meet somebody who actually fought the Blight. Some wanted to know how he knew that the song they heard was a false Calling. Alistair patiently listened and answered their questions, omitting some details and trying not to show Clarel in a bad light. He appreciated they felt loyal to their late Commander and saw no reason to make them feel worse.

Monique was the first who expressed a desire to stay. She bowed formally to Alistair and nodded to the others, though Jannasilane was the only one who recognized the subtle dismissive quality in her acknowledgment. Her hackles rose when Monique spoke to the Commander in a purring voice designed to stroke the senses. “I await your decision, Commander,” Monique gracefully stood and exited the room, confident in her allure.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Alistair scratched the side of his jaw.

“Only because she didn’t launch herself into your lap and dig in,” Nate’s comment had his Commander sputtering. Saykor and Garevel snickered, the lieutenant more discreetly. Jannasilane sniffed.

“The only woman I want d-,” Alistair stopped himself and turned beet red, “I can’t believe I almost said that.” Janna blushed and the other men chuckled at his discomfort. The flushed warrior cleared his throat, “Well, that’s a definite ‘no’ then. Let’s hope the next decisions are just as easy.”

The next Warden was older, even grizzled. Warden Robert bowed to the Commander and then Jannasilane, “I am truly sorry for your loss. When you have been a Grey Warden as long as I, over twenty years, you become accustomed to death but familiarity does not always mean you do not feel the sting. I am ready for your questions, Warden-Commander.”

Alistair went through what would become standard in the remaining interviews: stressing Ferelden’s independence from Weisshaupt, its very different management style from any other Warden command post, greater integration and communication with non-Wardens, and he reiterated how much his people at the Vigil missed Stroud and that anyone who stayed would have to be thick-skinned. That last caused the senior Warden to chuckle, “So I assumed from the perky dwarva who escorted me here. Warden Sigrun tried to pick my pocket more than once. No, Warden-Commander, ser, I wouldn’t expect any less.” His smile faded and he became serious once more, “I admired Commander Clarel. She was fiery in her determination to fight the Blight and she was a fair Commander and willing to think outside the box. Perhaps that was her downfall; I don’t pretend to know. I never doubted her plan until the very end when it was almost too late. I appreciate you not villainizing her as I am sure some are.”

“Since you have been with the Wardens for so long, why do you wish to stay in Ferelden rather than go to Weisshaupt? Many of the Wardens I’ve met from other nations desire to see it at least once,” Alistair asked.

“If it didn’t have so many damn Antivans I’d rather go to Antiva where it’s a good deal warmer,” Robert snorted. “A few years back I had a nasty run in with an emissary who favored ice attacks. Ever since, the colder it is the more my bones ache. Even Grey Wardens’ healing abilities only go so far when strong magic is involved. The very thought of that icy mountain air hurts. I wasn’t a young man when I Joined, maybe that’s a factor, but Ferelden is positively balmy compared to the Anderfels and Weisshaupt. I’ll do my duty as a Warden, always have done, but I do not mind admitting that at my age a warm fire and decent wine at the end of the day is all the reward I desire. Besides, sending me to Weisshaupt is a waste of coin. If I’m not hearing my Calling now it won’t be long before I do.”

“You are probably the first person in Thedas history to call Ferelden even comparatively balmy,” Alistair noted wryly. “I appreciate your candor. I’ll let you know,” he dismissed the old warrior.

“He will soon hear his Calling; this is truth,” Jannasilane spoke softly after Robert left them. “I can sense the changes in his Wardenness,” she clarified.

“You liked him,” Nate noted. She shrugged. “He seems a decent sort, but we’re not a home for old Wardens waiting to go on their last walk,” he added.

Alistair nodded, “True, but I am concerned about one thing. Is he more susceptible to Corypheus as a result and can Weisshaupt, without any trained templars, handle what he might do against his will? What about on the way, will he be a danger to Hawke? I have to consider that, for everyone’s safety, he might need to stay here.”

“Not an easy decision,” Garevel sighed.

More Wardens came and went. More questions asked and answered. Alistair adjusted his interviews based on the age and experience of the Wardens before him, as well as where they were originally stationed. The sadness in Jannasilane’s eyes made some visibly disturbed by while others maintained a more neutral, even stoic demeanor. A young Warden who looked like he still worked on his father’s farm was one of the last. He bowed, Warden-style, to Alistair, “Warden-Commander.” He then turned to Jannasilane and bowed deeply, “Madame, I am most grieved for your loss. Beauty should not mourn.” He stood to attention and once more addressed Alistair, “Ser, I am Auguste-Rémy and I await your questions. Most of my comrades just call me Rémy.”

_“Beauty should not mourn? Does that even work?”_ Alistair looked at the young man, he didn’t bother looking at his advisers, he knew even the diplomatic Garevel was snickering to himself. “Sit down, sit down, we’re not quite so formal here,” he waved the man, practically still a boy, into a seat. “You look familiar, but I am quite sure we’ve never met,” he stated.

Rémy smiled, “My younger brother will be most thrilled. You met him when we arrived, Dreytonne. I have many brothers and sisters and all of us strongly resemble one another.” 

“You don’t look so old yourself, how long have you been a Warden?”

“I underwent my Joining four years past; the minute I turned eighteen I left my father’s holding and traveled to Montsimmard and the nearest Grey Warden post. I practically demanded to be a Grey Warden. Commander Clarel listened to me and agreed. That was the proudest day of my life,” Rémy said sadly.

“I respected her a great deal,” Alistair replied. After a moment he continued, “I know we do things very differently from other Warden outposts, but isn’t eighteen a little young, especially when there’s no Blight? Why were you so determined to become a Grey Warden? You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to. I respect that everybody has a reason and they don’t have to share if that is their preference.”

“I do not mind. I was still a boy when the Blight ravaged Ferelden,” he recalled. “My father’s cousin, we called him ‘Uncle,’ lived in Ferelden, between Redcliffe and Lothering. I regret I am unfamiliar with your country’s geography and cannot more accurately describe his small farm’s location. Many more Grey Wardens than usual crossed the, I believe arling is the equivalent, where we lived. I could not help but pick up small pieces of news. I knew my father was worried and it had to do with the Wardens’ movements. I realize now they were gathering near Ferelden’s borders.” No one spoke; the weight of that time was on all their minds, they let Rémy continue when he was ready. “I used to remember Uncle as a strong, big, confident man who could weather any ill winds blowing against him, just like my father. The day my childhood ended was the day when he showed up at our door frightened, nervy, and shaking. He saw the darkspawn kill his family from the other end of his farm. They slaughtered the livestock and put the heads on pikes, people and animals both. Seeing those monsters . . . what they did . . . it broke him. I vowed I would fight such evil; I never wanted to see my father reduced to what remained of my uncle. He had nightmares all the time. They didn’t slow down until Grey Wardens, you,” Rémy gazed directly into Alistair’s eyes, “killed the Archdemon.” He shook his head, “Even so, my uncle never really recovered. He works on my father’s farm as any other laborer, struggling to forget.”

“In some ways that’s the worst of the darkspawn, even without a Blight,” Alistair spoke softly, “the horror they inflict remains with the survivors long after the actual injury. And during the Blight, so many people suffered and died.” He thought of Duncan and Cailan, and his comrades at Ostagar. He reached for Janna’s hand and held it, knowing she was thinking the same.

After Rémy left Sigrun smirked at Alistair, “So, he was a boy during the Blight.”

“Right, I didn’t feel old at all when he said that,” Alistair huffed. “You should have respect for your elders you, you perky dwarva you.” Sigrun just laughed.

Meanwhile, Jannasilane walked behind him and started examining his hair. She plucked, “Oh dear, my Ali, a grey hair. Well, I love you and I promise to help your old bones go up and down the stairs.” Everybody laughed when he turned around and glared at her.

“You think you’re so clever,” he rubbed his head where his hair used to be. “But you’re just being mean,” he quickly picked her up and plopped her back down in her chair. “Now stay there and behave, wicked wench.” With his hands on her shoulders he looked at Sigrun, “We should be just about done. Please tell me we’re almost finished,” he whined.

“Two more. You wanna wait 'til after lunch or talk to ‘em now?”

“No, let’s finish up. Lunch has waited long enough, a little longer won’t make much difference. I have to make a decision soon, but I want some time to think. I want your,” he looked around the room, “input as well. This is going to affect every person at the Vigil on a daily basis and I don’t want to risk overlooking anything in the short time we have before the ship leaves.”

Captain Garevel frowned, “You could simply decide not to accept any.”

Alistair smiled ruefully, “That would be the easiest solution.”

“Which is why he’s not doing it,” Saykor snorted.

The Commander ignored him, “However, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I did just what was easy. Thanks to Corypheus, Orlais doesn’t have any Grey Wardens and the Free Marches have a lot fewer or none. Maybe this is just a wild idea, but I doubt Old Grumpy Robes is stopping the darkspawn from being their usual obnoxious selves. Once the Inquisitor deals with him and closes up all the rifts she’ll need to let the Grey Wardens back in or darkspawn will be rolling over Orlais like the demons are now.”

“And until then?” Nathaniel prodded.

“I’m still thinking,” he held up his hand, “Don’t say a word.” When the last Orlesian left, Alistair stood and stretched. “I’m beat; I don’t understand how some people can talk for hours at a Landsmeet. Anyway, lunch and then Fiona. Hawke should have already left to find a boat so that doesn’t give us more than a few days. Umm, tomorrow morning all of us, including Sigrun,” he rolled his eyes, “can meet in the conference room and talk about the candidates. Until then, mull and observe.”

“Eat. Mull. Observe. Repeat as necessary,” Sigrun casually saluted. “Got it.”

“Should she still be sleeping?” Alistair worried. Lunch was over and he and Jannasilane were checking on Martelle.

Jannasilane chewed her lower lip, “It is a big blow for her to absorb; you can see tracks of new tears. Pinktara is with her and the boys are near. Tomorrow is soon enough to wake her, I think, but no longer. I will stay with her awhile and then, if she still sleeps, I will go to my garden. She will know to find me there. Perhaps we will read some of Jean-Marc’s journal together. The sun and working with the earth will soothe her; this I know is truth.”

“I hope you’re right,” he sighed. He bent down and kissed the top of his daughter’s head, “We love you, Martypants. Don’t sleep too long. If you don’t tell me when I’m being silly, I might make a mistake. Oh, the horror,” he whispered. He left them, his wife stroking his daughter’s hair as she slept.

He found Fiona in the library, “Sorry to keep you waiting, Fiona. I hope you haven’t been bored.”

“Not at all, Alistair,” Fiona smiled. “You have an interesting and unusual library. If I am not mistaken, some of these tomes belonged to the Circle, did they not? How fares your daughter?”

“She’s asleep. Between what happened to her mother and now her godfather . . . she’s had a lot of stress. My Janna thinks tomorrow is soon enough to wake her, give her time to absorb everything. The boys are standing guard outside her door,” he smiled a little. “They gang up against her sometimes but they adore their older sister and will fight any baddies who want to harm her.”

“You have a charming family, Alistair. I think your Janna has the right of it; no harm will come from letting young Martelle sleep for a day. Sleep can be healing and she is lucky to have so many who love her watching over her.”

Alistair smiled, relieved that someone else thought they were doing the right thing. “I am a lucky man. You want to come with me to the roof? I’ve been inside all day and if I don’t get some fresh air soon I’m going to wilt and be no good to anybody.”

“The roof? Do you plan to throw me over if you don’t like what I have to say?” she took his offered arm and allowed him to escort her.

“You never know,” he drawled. They said little during the short walk to the roof. “As you can see, we come up here a lot,” he waved his arm around. “We were married up here. It was raining like anything but the mages got together and created a giant barrier so nobody got wet. We raised the walls so the children can’t trip and fall over; they each have a small garden up here where they can grow anything they want. Lane mostly plays in his; he’s a little young to understand the whole seed-to-flower process. We come up here and hang out together in the evenings as much as possible.” He started towards his hammock and then veered towards some chairs grouped together. “I usually like to lie in the hammock but if I do, I’ll fall out, you’ll laugh, and then I _will_ have to throw you over the side.”

Fiona laughed, “You sounded just like your father then. Although I believe riding a horse was his bête noire. Falling from one to be more precise.”

“Right, you knew him didn’t you? Maric,” he unnecessarily clarified.

She nodded and sank into a chair. “It is very nice, this little oasis you have created up here. I believe I told you I met your father after Queen Rowan died; I was part of a Grey Warden contingent petitioning him for his help. Duncan and I were the most junior members of the small group.” She explained their mission what they discovered about the Architect. “The same Architect you met in Amaranthine. I was surprised to hear Utha was still alive and with him, but he did have a certain compelling quality. I grieved to hear of her death, though she was lost to us long ago. At least the creature is also dead.”

“Wow, he once thought the best way to end the Blight was to make everybody a darkspawn? He offered me a deal but nothing like that,” Alistair was trying to wrap his brain around the fact that he and his father confronted the same enemy. “Did you know he’s the one who woke Urthemiel? He was trying to create a Joining ritual that would separate darkspawn from the song, the Archdemon ‘come hither’ song. You didn’t come to Amaranthine to tell me that did you?”

“I was a bitter young woman when I met Maric,” she replied. Alistair waited. He was used to being patient with a woman who wanted to tell him things in her own way. “I thought he was just another worthless noble; selfish, uncaring, and full of his own importance. Oh, he could be charming, but it was a long time, longer than it should have been, before I realized he carried a wealth of sadness on his shoulders and that he felt deeply. We became close in the Deep Roads. When you are isolated from everyone else and have to rely on each other for survival, you must sweep away the clutter or you die. He hated being King; he didn’t feel he was very good at it and that his people deserved a leader who could make the hard decisions more easily, as Loghain could.”

“Huh, that’s one thing we have in common, I never wanted to be king,” Alistair commented. He ignored the reference to the queen’s father.

“He was wrong,” Fiona said firmly. “It was precisely his ability to care that made him a good and beloved king. His intelligence and charm certainly contributed to his success.”

Her son raised an eyebrow, “Overthrowing the Orlesian invaders didn’t hurt.”

Fiona smiled, “No, it did not. I do not know if you could call our mission successful, we did not achieve the goals Commander Genevieve set, but we did foil the Architect’s plot and uncover his ally on the surface, the First Enchanter of Fereldan’s Circle.”

“He was Orlesian, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, but he was after power for himself, not Orlais. The fact his allies were Orlesian mages and templars is coincidental, he knew them from before he became First Enchanter and that he could trust them. Loghain was looking for Maric, believing we kidnapped him, when he learned of the coup and assaulted Kinloch Hold. He did not expect to see us there. I don’t know if Maric ever fully convinced him that we did not kidnap him. Loghain was against helping us; Maric joined us without telling him.”

“Orlesians, mages, Grey Wardens and a missing king all balled up in one convoluted ball of yarn that fostered one man’s paranoia . . . what a mess,” Alistair shook his head.

“I only saw Maric one time after that, several months later. I traveled to Denerim with Duncan and introduced Maric to his son. I didn’t know I was pregnant when we parted and I could not raise a child in Weisshaupt among the Grey Wardens no matter how much I wanted him. I asked only one thing, that he be raised far away from court. I saw how unhappy his father was and did not want that for my son. Nor did I want my son to be an excuse for others to harm either Maric or Cailan; none of them deserved that. Maric gave in and finally agreed, but he hated it.”

“Wait, why are you telling me this? Do you mean I have a brother somewhere, another ‘royal bastard?’ Maric got around more than I thought, no offense to you,” he added hastily before she could slap him.

“Your father was not like that at all,” she answered him sharply. “He was no lecher or careless philanderer. He cared for me, though I was not the love of his life. That woman died and he grieved for her still. I grew to care for him a great deal and maybe even love him. I had no illusions about a future together. I do not regret the time we had; he healed me in more ways than I am willing to explain and the result of our connection was a child I love even if I had to give him up. No, Alistair, as far as I know Cailan was your only sibling.” Fiona waited and braced herself for an explosion.

Alistair frowned as the information began to click. He opened his mouth and closed it several times, but no sound came out. He began pacing. He looked at her, “So my mother wasn’t a maid, she was, is you and Duncan knew but never said anything. He knew how much I wanted a family but he said nothing, _nothing_.” He felt betrayed, angry, and confused. “ _You_ never said anything either,” he accused.

“Duncan kept my secret as I requested. I would not risk telling you in Weisshaupt and give the First any ammunition against you,” Fiona wearily replied. “On the road south there were too many people, too many Wardens and templars, to speak privately.”

He crossed his arms and frowned at her, “You could have if you wanted. You _chose_ not to tell me, again.”

Fiona stood to her full height and raised an eyebrow at him, “Young man, I did you a favor. At least, I thought I was doing what was best for you. I am not ignorant of the fact that you could have been Ferelden’s king. I am a former Grey Warden, an elf, a mage and an Orlesian . . . any of those things would damn you in the eyes of many but all of them? Even as an Arl, these things can only harm you. Alistair,” she beseeched him, “I did what I thought was right. That doesn’t mean I forgot you or that I don’t hurt every day since I gave you into your father’s care. He did care; Maric fell in love with you the moment I placed you in his arms. The only thing I could give you was a locket, an Andrastian locket to remember me by.”

“But I would have had a mother,” he whispered softly. “I don’t care about the rest of it.” He turned away but not before she saw the sad and lonely little boy he used to be. The locket, his mother’s locket, lay heavily against him, next to the Grey Warden amulet he wore. He didn’t look at her when he finally spoke again, “Why are you telling me now? What happened to change your mind?”

“Your wife is a perceptive woman,” Fiona began but Alistair whirled around and cut her short.

“You mean my Janna knew, and didn’t tell me?” Incredulity quickly gave way to anger; anger that now had a clearly defined focus. He started striding away.

Fiona ran after him and placed her hand on his arm in an attempt to stop him; “Alistair, no, it is not like that, please listen . . .” her hand fell away when he shrugged her off. She could only watch in dismay, “Maker, if you listen to any of us, please help him. My son is angry; don’t let him destroy the special bond he has with his wife. I hurt him and I bungled my confession.”

One look at the angry warrior had people scurrying out of his way. Alistair didn’t notice. He entered his wife’s garden and stared at her on the ground, her back to him. He didn’t dare get too close. “You knew,” he accused her. “You knew and didn’t tell me.”

Jannasilane closed her eyes and said a brief prayer before she stood and faced him, “This is truth.” Her heart ached to see the hurt and betrayal facing her, “I wanted Fiona to tell you so you could get answers from her I do not have. If she did not, I would have; this, too, is truth.”

“We said no secrets,” he stated softly. “No secrets, Jannasilane. Delaying the truth means you have to keep it secret until then. If Fiona, if my mother,” he corrected himself, “died when Corypheus attacked Haven, would you have told me then?”

_“Jannasilane, he called me Jannasilane,”_ that hurt. She waited until she could speak without breaking into tears, “I do not know, my Ali. I have no desire to keep secrets from you or to hurt you. If Fiona lived and chose not to tell you, her choice would hurt you but you could at least plan to confront her. I do not know why she chose to say nothing for so many years. If she died,” her shoulders sagged in defeat, “for so many years you have accepted that your mother died in childbirth. To learn she didn’t, that you met her, but she still did not tell you the truth and then died before you could ask her any questions? I know this would hurt you, perhaps more deeply than the ‘truth’ you have lived with all your life. Just the thought of causing you such pain hurts me, knowing that keeping the secret would hurt us . . . I probably would have told you but I cannot give you the definite answer you seek. I am sorry, my Ali,” she ended with a faint hiccup.

Alistair gritted his teeth, “Duncan knew.” As soon as he told her, he realized he was using her as an outlet for the anger she mostly didn’t deserve. She might not know but he did . . . she would have told him the truth in time. He was annoyed she didn’t tell him as soon as she could but, “I think I understand. I won’t say I’m not angry or annoyed, but I understand. Promise me, no more secrets even by delaying the truth. Unless it’s a special cheese for my name day, name day secrets are exempt.”

She smiled at him and brushed back a tear, “What about anniversary presents? Should I tell you what I have planned or are they also exempt? And do not forget Satinalia.”

He moved towards her, “Why don’t we make a distinction between surprises like presents and secrets. Secrets are bad but surprises are, hopefully, good,” he cupped her cheek. “After all, you’re supposed to reveal a surprise so it’s not the same as a secret.” He bracketed her face in his hands, "Do you have any other secrets? Now is the time to confess all,” he said half-jokingly.

“I love you, my Ali. No more secrets, I promise. Hmm, I told you about Blackwall?”

“The Warden who isn’t? Yes. I promise to give him a fair hearing if he shows up at the Vigil. Anything else?” She shook her head. He smiled and began backing her into the gazebo, “I have a problem, Janna mine; I have all this angry energy built up and nowhere to put it, any suggestions?” His hands began roaming, examining.

“One or two,” she answered, relieved, “one or two.” She wrapped her arms around him, “There is much weeding to do.”


	147. Commander to Commander

Fiona and the Inquisition troops who accompanied Hawke and the Wardens were back at Skyhold. Their troop leader knocked on Commander Cullen’s door.

“Enter,” Cullen replied without looking up from all the reports on the desk in front. As was his habit, he was standing, arms braced on either side of the desk. He once told Josephine it made it easier to skim several reports at a time and see possible connections. She didn’t say so but she thought it meant he could leave his desk that much faster. The Commander hated paperwork; everybody in Skyhold knew that.

“Commander, we’ve returned from Amaranthine,” the Inquisition soldier barely began.

“Good, good, unless it’s urgent you can give me your report later. I need to see -” he looked up when he realized somebody else was in the room. He stared at the armor on the stranger, Grey Warden armor. “I believe all Grey Wardens were sent to Weisshaupt. You’re in the wrong place, Warden,” he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and stared at the man, his eyes steely and ready to fight if he needed to.

The man slowly took off his helmet, “Hullo, Knight-Captain, er, Commander. I’m right where I’m supposed to be, for the moment. I have a letter from the boss,” he slowly pulled out a dispatch case and held it towards Cullen. The aide grabbed it and handed it to the former templar, whose eyebrows were nearly at the top of his head.

“Carver?” Cullen was surprised to see Hawke’s younger brother. The pugnacious boy he first met was now a seasoned warrior, and clearly had developed some much-needed self-control. He quickly read the brief letter from Alistair. He looked at the Inquisition soldier, “You’re dismissed, unless you have something else that needs my immediate attention. Otherwise, see to your men and come back this evening to give me a full report.” The man saluted and left, leaving the aide with the Commander and the Grey Warden. Cullen tapped the report in his hand, “Bryon, make sure the Wardens find a place to camp near the rest of the troops. Oh, better give them some Inquisition tabards for now, twelve total. They are here to help and I want to make sure everyone recognizes they are working with us. After Adamant, I don’t want the gossip mill to get ahead of the facts,” he added.

Cullen waited until it was just the two of them, “You look well. How is your sister? Did the Wardens give her any trouble?” He remembered that one was rather obnoxious.

Carver grinned, “Once He-Who-Sneers realized his fellows weren’t going to stop her from any retribution he calmed down or at least kept to himself, so I’m told. She threatened to make him seasick the entire journey if he so much as looked cross-eyed at her. Monique will be more annoying. That cat wanted to purr in the Hof’s company and was severely disappointed that he didn’t want her to stay in Amaranthine.”

“I’m sure Lady J would have been properly welcoming,” Cullen stated with a quick grin. He then got down to business, “Until I get final approval from the Inquisitor your stay is temporary. I appreciate Alistair sending us some of his best but you are still Grey Wardens and subject to the Venatori.”

“Commander, I’m not going to say they aren’t a concern, but all twelve of us have been working for months to build up our resistance against the false Calling. Besides, only six of us are full Wardens, that is, brothers and sisters in the Order. The others are Cousins, one for each of us. They know us and are on the alert for any oddities in our behavior. All of us know the Litany of Adralla backwards and forwards, I swear I even say it in my sleep, and more than half of us have templar training. I know you don’t like that, but you don’t need any of your people to be tainted. Much as I’d like to ram my sword down Corypheus’ throat, **again** , our orders are to stay away from him and concentrate on any normal darkspawn troubles. Alistair figures that, outside of Ferelden, any reports of outbreaks are going to come here to the Inquisition.”

“Even some from inside Ferelden,” Cullen was thinking about the Storm Coast. “I was just about on my way to meet the Inquisitor; I’ll tell her everything you and Alistair have told me. I assume you’re hungry, so I’ll have somebody show you where you can get something to eat. I know Alistair wants you to be self-sufficient, but I think we can spare one meal, even for Grey Warden appetites,” he said dryly.

“Now that you mention it,” Carver’s belly rumbled on cue. They stepped outside the Commander’s office.

“Junior? Is that you?” Varric asked Hawke’s little brother. “Does your sister know you’re not safely tucked away in Amaranthine?”

Cullen interjected, “You can ask him questions after you take him to get something to eat. I’m off,” he nodded briskly and stepped away.

“It’s almost good to see you, Varric,” Carver snorted. “I think you’re taller, oh, my mistake, you’re just standing on a mountain.”

“Really? Dwarf jokes about my height? Is that the best you can do? I’m surprised Curly didn’t put you in the dungeon – for bad attempts at humor if nothing else. Might as well go to the tavern, the food’s not bad and if you’re with me nobody’ll give you too much trouble. Bull and Buttercup are there, they might give you a hard time but they’re all right. Is Daisy with you?” Varric was determined to get answers and he knew that constantly changing topics was one way to get Carver off his guard.

“Merrill wanted to come. I was at my wit’s end trying to think of a way to keep her in Amaranthine when the boss had a stroke of genius. A few years back he was doing some research on some elf-related stuff and got help from a mage in the Circle. They have books on the language and all sorts of things. Since elven artifacts are a part of this mess he suggested Merrill work with some people he knows still at Kinloch Hold and do some research. She jumped at the chance to learn more. You know how eager she is to reclaim more knowledge about her people’s history.”

Varric barked, “Ha, I always knew that Snowflake had brains rattling around that head. Here we are,” Varric opened the tavern door. There weren’t many people inside at that time but even so, the hush was very loud once they noticed Carver’s insignia. Varric pitched his voice so everybody could hear him, “So, little Hawke, what news from the Hero of Ferelden?

~~~~Four Weeks Earlier~~~~

“The transfers are settling in,” Nate commented. They were in the Commander’s office to finalize training for their newest members.

“Why do I hear a ‘but’ in your voice,” Alistair rubbed his nose. He thought he knew what was coming. The transition was even harder than he anticipated and, just to make matters worse, the only ship Tambra could find willing to go to Marnus Pell didn’t leave for several more days. _“It’s a good thing Felsi is used to dealing with Oghren; she’s better suited than some to deal with the Orlesians. At least Monique isn’t giving her too much trouble, even that one doesn’t want to cast her net in his direction.”_

Nate shrugged, “Because you do. Bringing the fourteen you decided could stay into the Vigil and putting them in the barracks is a good thing. Some of their former comrades are particularly vocal and resentful; the seductress is especially put out,” Nathaniel smirked. Alistair made a rude noise. “You are so eloquent. Anyway, your children are the biggest obstacle to the transfers making their place here. When they can get away, the three of them hold hands and just watch the Orlesians. They are the epitome of grief, sadness, anger, or outrage. Coming from children, well, even I have to admit it’s a bit difficult to concentrate. Mouse tries but her grief is still palpable.”

Alistair banged his head on the wall behind him, “I know, I know, I know. The boys are protecting Martelle even though they don’t know from what. They’re confused; they don’t really understand why she’s upset with some Wardens but not others. It’s creating an ‘us versus them’ thing in their heads. I’ve tried talking to her, Janna tries talking to her, but she just looks at us with those sad eyes and promises to do better. Right now the transfers’ presence is pouring salt into an open wound.”

“We could take them to Soldier’s Peak,” the rogue offered doubtfully. He wasn’t surprised when his Commander shook his head.

“That will only foster the divide between our Wardens and them.” He drummed his fingers and narrowed his eyes in thought, “But I could take the family to Denerim for awhile. I probably should update Anora soon and it’s almost as easy to do so in person. That will give Martelle time to accept that Stroud is gone and that some of our new Wardens were at Adamant. By the time we come back, the transfers should be integrated and not stick out like a sore thumb. We’ll take J-Lynn with us as well; she can provide a distraction for Marty and get to see her father. Win-win,” Alistair liked the idea more and more.

“You’re not worried about the roads?” Nate was skeptical.

“Not really, no. The troops that came with Hawke didn’t notice anything and I’m going to ask the Inquisition soldiers to provide us an escort. Them plus twelve of our Wardens should be sufficient deterrent, don’t you think?” Alistair scratched his jaw thoughtfully.

“Oh?” Nathaniel raised an eyebrow and waited for the boss to explain.

Alistair sat up straight and began ticking points on his fingers, “One, there are no Grey Wardens in Orlais. Two, the darkspawn aren’t known for conveniently waiting until we’re ready before making an appearance. Three, once she deals with Corypheus, the Inquisitor won’t have the authority to keep Grey Wardens out of the rest of southern Thedas and Orlais will be vulnerable until Weisshaupt sends replacements. Four, the Order’s reputation is mangled and damaged, thanks to that creature’s manipulations. We need to show the Inquisition and the people in Orlais that Grey Wardens are still useful and that they have defenses against Venatori control. I’m not about to send them against Corypheus; I will make that clear in my letter to Cullen and the Inquisitor. In his final report, Stroud was worried that Corypheus had plans for the bound Wardens beyond Adamant. Five, I want the people of Ferelden to _see_ that the Grey Wardens of Ferelden are still protecting them against darkspawn. We’ve run into some Venatori stragglers here and there. We killed them so they couldn’t send a message to their superiors that we have defenses against them.”

“Being smited by a Grey Warden certainly surprised the ones Saykor and I ran across,” Nathaniel grinned. He sobered, “I’m sure the news about Adamant has already spread as far as Gwaren, probably further. Some people are going to use it against the Order and you. I think you’re right; it may help if people see us _with_ the Inquisition as opposed to overseen _by_ the Inquisition. What if Inquisitor Bragaara refuses?”

The Arl-Commander shrugged, “They fall back to Warden’s Pint. Skyhold isn’t that far from Orzammar, as the crow flies. They can patrol the area between the dwarven city and Highever, accessible enough if the Inquisitor changes her mind. Oh, did I mention that six of them will be Cousins and that I want more than half of the deployed Wardens to be skilled in templar maneuvers?”

“You want Cousins who know the Brothers and Sisters well enough to recognize any oddities in their behavior,” Nathaniel realized. He smirked at his friend and Commander, “I don’t know why some people keep insisting you’re just a pretty face.”

“I want Alan in charge while I’m in Denerim,” Alistair continued. “He’s bright and a seasoned Warden. If he does well I’m going to promote him to the third Second position. I need to start looking at the younger Wardens . . . if we’re going to have continuity in our leadership we can’t have all of us going to our Calling at the same time. I think we’re building something good here.”

Nate sobered, “I imagine some will be disappointed but you’re right. We need to plan some sort of succession, now that we’re independent from Weisshaupt.” The two men grimly contemplated the future. “Well,” Nate stood, “I better start figuring out some good pairings. Do you have any ideas about who you want to send?”

“I want you here to help the transfers while I’m in Denerim. You’ll also be available to Alan, if he needs any assistance. Let him make mistakes, as long as they’re small ones. I want Saykor and Blaine, maybe some others, to go to Soldier’s Peak and talk to Avernus. I taught Levi and his family the Litany several years ago, but we should check on them. That wily old so-and-so is creepy, but he knows a lot. He may have some ideas about Corypheus’ plans that could be useful. Beyond that, the dozen who go to Skyhold – I’m being optimistic here – need to be able to work together well, that may not be easy since we need strong Brother/Cousin pairings. And we probably don’t want to send anybody thin-skinned. Even if Inquisitor Adaar accepts our assistance, I guarantee some others won’t.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing we have a few days before Hawke can leave,” Nate sighed. He looked at his Commander, “If you don’t hurry you’re going to be late for tea with your mother and Mouse.”

Alistair leapt to his feet, “Mother. It’s so strange . . . after all this time I have a mother. Janna’s still miffed at her but I think she’s coming around. The kids like her, so that’s a good thing. At least it means they aren’t spending _all_ their time glaring at the transfers.” 

“Pffftt, you know Mouse is just as protective of you as you are of her,” Howe retorted. “She was already annoyed with Fiona for serving the mages up to that Venatori guy in Redcliffe.”

“I am a lucky man, but I won’t be if I keep them waiting for long,” Alistair grinned happily and closed the door behind them.

~~~~Back to Today~~~~

“. . . and that’s why I’m here,” Carver explained. “As soon as I heard what he was planning I insisted, hell, I begged to come.”

“Bet your sister didn’t like it,” Varric smirked at the warrior, trying to get a rise out of the boy he remembered.

Carver just shrugged, “She didn’t. The days of her keeping me wrapped in cotton are over; I’m a Grey Warden now, not the little brother looking for a purpose.” He stared into his ale, “I owe Stroud. If he hadn’t agreed to let me join, I’d have died in the Deep Roads. He taught me a lot, so did the Commander and Cupcake. Stroud would hate to see how the Wardens are viewed now; if I can help make things right for him . . .”

“Alright, Junior, alright,” Varric murmured softly.

“Why would you have died in the Deep Roads? What were you doing down there?” Sera asked, partly out of curiosity and partly to see if somebody would buy another round.

“Seeking fame and fortune of course,” Carver smiled humorlessly, “or at least for enough money to get out of the shack we lived in with our miserable uncle. We ran into darkspawn and one of them . . . you don’t want to be cut by their blades or get any of their blood in your mouth or an open wound. That’s a sure road to death or ghouldom followed by slow death. My sister would have had to cut my throat for mercy’s sake and to prevent me from attacking them like a mindless beast and after Bethany, well. Fortunately, Stroud was on a mission of his own. Wardens are always mapping the Deep Roads, looking for their lairs or other entrances to the surface so they can block them off. Anders convinced him I was worth taking so I could try to become a Grey Warden. It’s the only cure but it’s not something just anybody can handle.”

“Glad I’m an archer, ick,” Sera wrinkled her nose in disgust. “To the ‘stache,” she raised her now full glass.

The others raised their mugs and chorused, “To Stroud.”

“She wouldn’t like that you’re still hurting. I can help,” a quiet voice spoke up, one that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Carver stared at the boy who was suddenly just _there,_ but when he looked around the table, he realized he was the only one surprised. Varric grinned at the boy, “Hey, kid, you decided to join us. Pull up a chair.”

Cole stared at Carver, “You’re hurting. I didn’t want to come because your words make my head hurt. They made me disappear once, but now they just cause an ache. Can you stop? It’s hard for me to hear when somebody needs me. I heard you over the words; if you stop I can help you.”

“Creep time again,” Sera murmured in disgust.

“Slow down, Cole, Carver hasn’t said anything you should be worried about,” Bull eyed the boy, he liked Cole but the kid still made him nervous.

“Not those words, the other ones in his head, the ones they all say. I heard them coming, like a ripple. But he’s here and it’s too close. The ripple is a wave, hard and unyielding, pounding, pounding, pounding, please stop.”

The warrior staring at him frowned, “I’m not sure . . . do you mean the Litany?” Cole nodded. “You helped Cupcake so I’ll stop until I’m back with my men. We’re not doing it to hurt you but to protect ourselves from any Venatori. I doubt they’ll be inside the Deep Roads but we have to get there first.”

“Oh, that’s good then. You stopped! I feel better, like the air just popped around me. I can help again. I can help _you_. One from two, two are one, but now half is gone, always missing, always hurting. Crushed and tossed away. You relive it in your dreams. I can make it stop, make you forget.” Cole stared at Carver; Carver stared back at Cole.

“What’s he mean this time?” the elf scowled at Cole.

Iron Bull nodded his head at the two facing each other, “Carver knows.”

“Bethany,” Carver answered without looking away from Cole. “We were running away from Lothering but couldn’t outrun the darkspawn. An ogre was going for our mother; it pushed past Tambra and me like we were fluff. Bethany stepped in front of Mother and threw a fireball at it but the creature just roared in outrage and grabbed her, I thought it was going to eat her but it just crushed the life out of her and threw her away like a used rag. She was my sister, my twin. In so many ways she was the best of us, smart, strong, kind, gentle. Sometimes she acted as a buffer between us, I didn’t realize how much until she was gone. She always had faith in me.”

“Hawke always spoke highly of her and blamed herself for not getting to the ogre fast enough,” Varric murmured sympathetically.

“I blamed myself. After the Deep Roads, sometimes I thought being tainted was my punishment for not saving her. I should have known what she would do as soon as she did. We could always feel when the other one was hurting inside. I remember one time while I was at Ostagar I knew one of the lads still in Lothering hurt her feelings. I could feel it and guessed the cause by its flavor.”

Sera was curious in spite of the ‘creepy twin stuff’, “Did you know who to hurt?”

“No,” Carver finally looked away from Cole, “it doesn’t, didn’t work like that. I sensed her emotions but couldn’t read her mind. Same with her. We learned early on to respect each other’s privacy but sometimes . . . anyway, I was grumpy, knowing she hurt but not being able to do anything.”

“Junior, she may have been sunshine but you were born grumpy,” Varric teased.

Carver shrugged, “Later, I could tell she sorted the lad out. I could sense her, I don’t know, pleased vindication. Whatever she did, she was very proud of herself. I couldn’t help smiling, which startled my comrades because we were fighting a small band of darkspawn scouts at the time.” He looked back at Cole, “I appreciate your offer, but I don’t want to forget. Grey Wardens usually have nightmares, and I prefer that one to some of the others. She inspires me to be a better Warden, a stronger Warden. Tambra is my sister, my family, but Bethany was a part of me in a way Tambra, Mother, or Father could never be.”

“Like I told you before, sometimes, kid, it’s better to remember the hurt,” Varric reminded Cole.

“Twin stuff is just weird,” Sera muttered. “Hey, is anybody going to buy another round?”

Carver caught the server’s attention and smiled at her, signaling for another round, including one for Cole. She nodded and smiled back. When Carver turned his attention back to the table, Sera was snickering, “You got Miss Sour-Face to smile.”

Carver shrugged, “I like women.”

“So do I,” Sera retorted.

“Good thing Merrill isn’t here or you might try to poach,” Carver teased, not worried at all.

“I don’t poach,” she replied loftily. “Merrill, is that . . .”

“Daisy, yes,” Varric answered her. “Don’t worry, Junior, Daisy is way too elfy for Buttercup here. Heck, I’m elfier than our Sera. Do you have time for some Wicked Grace?”


	148. Crimes and Punishments

The man approaching Vigil’s Keep was amused despite himself. Joy preceded him everywhere he went as news of Corypheus’ defeat two months earlier spread faster than, _“faster than a griffon could fly.”_ People were happily coming out of hiding and celebrating. Corypheus was dead! The Inquisitor was cleaning up his mess while her people tracked down any remaining Venatori, red templars, or charmed Grey Wardens. The man stopped smiling, _“Cursed is more like it. Don’t think there are many of those left, though. Without Corypheus to control them, they’re like Tranquil mages, no, more like blind puppets waiting for a puppeteer. Maybe in time they can become the Wardens they once were . . .”_

He thought of his past and contemplated his future, two things uppermost in his mind on the lonely road to Amaranthine and Vigil’s Keep. He didn’t know how the Warden-Commander would receive him or whether he needed to venture further to the Free Marches or Antiva in order to fill out his sentence. Regardless of his doubts, his steps never slowed as he approached the gates. The man avoided Carver and the other Wardens at Skyhold; he didn’t want to be in a position where they might ask for an explanation. Any explanations belonged first and foremost to Gracie and the Hero of Ferelden.

Alistair wasn’t feeling very heroic; exasperated, yes; angry, yes. He was watching his people spar and trying to decide what to do about a new weapons trainer when his wife and a very angry laundrywoman confronted him, with a truculent Duncan in tow. The tense group moved over to the stables for more privacy and Jannasilane explained the situation. He crossed his arms and stared down at his young son; Duncan’s lower lip pushed out in a petulant frown. “Duncan Jerad,” the boy shrunk a little bit at the ominous formality, “you stole.”

Young Duncan glowered, “Didn’t steal, hid.”

“This isn’t a game. Just because you hid it so she couldn’t find it instead of keeping it for yourself doesn’t change the fact that it **is not yours**. Do you remember what stealing is?” the father stared mercilessly at his son. “I didn’t hear you,” he barked after the boy muttered something.

Duncan swallowed hard, he couldn’t remember his father ever being so angry with him, “S-stealing is taking things that don’t be-belong to you.”

“Does that brooch belong to you?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Do you want to be a thief?”

The little boy shook his head, and then burst out, “Martha was mean to Starphire! She yelled at her and chased her with a broom.”

Martha had the good grace to look abashed, “I’m sorry Mistress. That cat of yours keeps coming into the laundry, scares me half to death sometimes when she creeps in under my feet. Yesterday she walked across newly laundered sheets. Cleaning bed sheets is backbreaking work and I wanted to cry when I seen them paw prints and realized we’d have to do them all over again. I wanted to scare the creature bad enough she didn’t come back.”

Jannasilane frowned, “I will have a word with her. She is most intelligent and it is not fair for her to make others work twice as hard. You should have told me she was being a nuisance.”

“Aye, reckon I should’ve. The pretty, little thing isn’t a bother most of the time, leastways as far as I know, just in the laundry. You and the master are right good to us and I didn’t want to bother you. I wasn’t trying to hurt the kitty,” she added.

Alistair didn’t interrupt; he hoped his son realized he acted hastily and without thinking. The little boy was starting to look uncomfortable instead of belligerent. “Thank you, Martha, if you could give us a minute,” he waited for the woman to move away and Janna to return. He stared at his son, “So you thought it was okay to steal from her instead of asking her why she was angry? You made her cry,” Alistair said softly. His son started tearing up; in spite of his temper, he was as softhearted as his father. Alistair pressed his advantage, “Your mother has been tiring herself out all morning trying to comfort her and help her look for that brooch. It belonged to her mother who gave it to her on her wedding day and is one of the few treasures she has to remind her of her parents and her husband. I am ashamed that one of my children thought they could simply take it from her. I am very disappointed in you.”

“We both are,” Jannasilane added. “I think you should help out in the laundry every day for the next week, in the afternoon between lessons and dinner.”

“Seems fitting,” Alistair agreed, “But it’s not quite enough for something so serious. I am going to lock away your golem and other miniature figures until your sentence is complete. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes sir,” Duncan’s mouth trembled but he didn’t give way to tears. Alistair was proud of him for that, at least.

“Apologize to Martha for all the trouble you caused her,” he motioned the woman to come back. Once the wronged and the miscreant were gone, Alistair relaxed. He smoothed back his hair and sighed, “Well, that was -” he jumped and looked down at his wife in disbelief, “Did you just goose me? Out here?”

“You looked so stern and sexy, my Ali,” Jannasilane smiled up at him and walked her fingers across his abdomen.

“ _You_ are a wicked, wanton woman, thank the Maker,” he replied and began backing her into the dark stables. “What am I going to do with you?” He pushed her down onto a pile of hay and then plopped down beside her; he pulled her arms over her head and held her wrists in one hand while he placed the other next to her ribcage. He leaned in, as his lips drew closer to hers, her eyes darkened in desire and her breathing changed.

She shrieked when he began tickling her. “Ali, stop,” she laughed and tried to squirm away.

“Nope, this is your punishment,” he growled into her ear.

It was a few minutes before they could hear the guard trying to gain their attention, “Arl-Commander, sir, My Lady, there’s a man here to see you both. He’s alone,” the man studiously stared at the air above them while they stood and straightened their clothing. “Seneschal Candira is waiting with him in your office,” he made his escape.

“I wonder if he was relieved or disappointed you had all your clothes on,” Alistair teased his beloved.

“You are getting as bad as Zevran,” she stuck her tongue out at him. Then she goosed him again.

“You are in such a mood,” he complained good-naturedly. He did grab hold of her hand on order to prevent a repeat. “Let’s see who’s waiting for us and then maybe we can go to our room and you can try to goose me all you want.”

The road dusty warrior stood and faced the door when he heard them coming. The minute the Commander and his Arlessa entered he bowed, “Warden-Commander, milady.”

“Blackwall, I didn’t expect you so soon; I thought you’d still be helping the Inquisitor,” Jannasilane smiled at the man. Seneschal Candira left the room after a discreet nod from Alistair.

“It’s good to see you, Gracie lass. I admit, I was worried about you but looking at you now, you are positively blooming,” the warrior smiled at the small woman.

“Gracie? Just how many nicknames did you add to your collection?” Alistair couldn’t help asking. He motioned for Blackwall to sit, “Janna told me you might be coming to discuss joining the Wardens.”

Blackwall nodded, “Aye, My Lord Commander.”

“No need to be so formal,” Alistair waved his hand. “If you must, then Commander is good enough.”

Blackwall couldn’t help noticing the straw in Jannasilane’s hair. A glimmer of a smile lurked in his dark eyes when he replied, “I see; I can’t pretend to be a formal or fancy man myself. Gracie here was kind enough to suggest I come here when I finished helping the Inquisitor, so here I am.” Jannasilane started to leave but he stopped her, “No, lass, I want no secrets from you. You favored me with this opportunity even though I don’t deserve it. You see, Commander, my name isn’t Blackwall. He’s the man who recruited me years ago. To my sorrow, he died before we arrived at his posting. I was a miserable, selfish, greedy, rotten bastard and didn’t think any would believe me when I said darkspawn killed him. My true name is Thom Rainier,” he grimaced in self-disgust when Jannasilane couldn’t help moving her hand protectively over her abdomen. “I see you’ve heard of me. I doubt anything you’ve heard is as bad as I was. I’ll leave now, if you prefer, either of you,” he waited, not bothering to hope.

Alistair and Jannasilane looked at each other in silent communication before Alistair answered, “No, I’d rather hear all of it, if you don’t mind.” Janna agreed, but she held her Ali’s hand.

Rainier started at the beginning, when he won the Grand Melee. “. . . My men were good men and loyal, certainly they deserved a more honorable commander. They didn’t know who we were attacking until the last minute, but not one hesitated to follow my orders. The children weren’t supposed to be there, but I didn’t let their presence stop me. Later, well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now how much the Grand Duke really knew. They called us traitors and I, a monster. That part was true enough. We scattered, they caught some of my men but like a coward, I kept running. I picked up mercenary work here and there until Warden-Constable Blackwall found me. I don’t know what he saw in me, but I leapt at the chance to, not atone for there is no way to atone for what I did either to that family or my men, to become something more.”

“I’ve replayed that scene in my head so many times,” he continued after several moments of silence. “He must have known about the darkspawn. He sent me down that hole to protect me, another good man dead in my stead. I didn’t dare continue to the Wardens, but I could try to live up to the man who was willing to give me another chance. I used his name, partly as a disguise I’ll admit, but also, to remind me of my new purpose. That’s when I came to Ferelden where the Inquisitor found me. I finally had the opportunity to live up to something instead of hiding away.”

“I’m sure a lot of farmers and other laborers are alive now because you took the time to help them,” Alistair said quietly.

“Perhaps,” Rainier acknowledged uncomfortably, “perhaps. I tell you this; it felt right working with the Inquisitor. When I heard the Orlesians were going to hang one of my men for what were rightly my crimes, I couldn’t hide anymore. The Inquisitor is a great lady, but it wasn’t fair to her or the Inquisition for me to stay. Fortunately, I was in time to stop the hanging.”

“That took courage,” Jannasilane spoke softly, her expression hidden behind her hair.

The man she met as Blackwall stared at her before shaking his head, “I don’t know about that. To be brave, I think you have to be afraid. I wasn’t. Resigned, accepting, those might be better words. No, lass, it was simply time to stop running. I deserved to hang, not my men. When the cell doors clanged shut behind me, I felt a great weight lift from my shoulders. The Inquisitor shouldn’t have interfered; it did her no good and could only tarnish the Inquisition’s reputation.” He sat up straight and faced Alistair, “Warden-Commander, I would be here by my own choice but you should know that the Inquisitor sentenced me to join the Grey Wardens, to finish what Warden-Constable Blackwall started so many years ago. I’ll understand if you won’t have me but that doesn’t mean I won’t carry out my sentence. I’ll go to the Free Marches next, then Nevarra or Antiva.”

Alistair didn’t reveal he already knew at least the bare bones of the story; he was uncomfortable that the man in front of him murdered an entire family but he was also impressed that he spared himself nothing in the telling. “I have some questions first,” he squeezed Janna’s hand and then let go.

Janna stood, now was Warden time, “I appreciate your telling me, us, the truth, Bl-Thom. The man you were sounds like a horrible person, but he is no longer the man you are, this is truth.”

“You humble me, my lady,” Thom Rainier stood respectfully and bowed. He remained standing until she left the room. “Commander, I’ll answer any questions as best I can.”

“For starters, why come here to carry out your sentence or destiny if you prefer,” Alistair asked.

“Your good lady,” Thom easily answered. “She showed me a grace and generosity in Haven that I did nothing to earn. I couldn’t snub her by not coming here, first. Then, of course, there’s you, the Hero of Ferelden. Being a Warden under your command is an honor. You didn’t fall for Corypheus’ tricks and your actions here made it easier for the Inquisitor. Everything I’ve heard about your leadership, and I made it a point to learn as much as I could, told me you were fair _and_ strong.”

“I had some advantages the other Warden-Commanders didn’t,” the ‘Hero’ stated quietly. “For one, I _knew_ what an Archdemon felt like.”

“Aye, that you did,” the older warrior acknowledged. “Ferelden is the closest Grey Warden command not in disarray, thanks to that monster. I like Ferelden. I may be a Marcher by birth but Ferelden is a nation where a man can stand on his own, be he farmer or lord. I feel at home here. If I am to spend the rest of my days fighting darkspawn, miserable creatures, I’d as soon do it here as anywhere.”

“I’m going to talk to my advisors before I make my decision. Some of the Wardens from Adamant transferred here and might recognize you, Rainier, and my Constables need to be prepared to diffuse a possible situation. Grey Wardens leave their old lives behind but,” he shrugged. “You were honest with us and I’ll be honest with you, I need some time to absorb your story. As a father with another child on the way . . . I want to be sure I can get past your history before I agree to accept you as a recruit.”

Rainier nodded, “Fair enough, I’m done hiding, Commander. And I’m done using another man’s name. I saw an inn nearby; I’ll wait there for your decision.”

“Nonsense, now that I’ve been able to deploy my Wardens again, you can stay at the Vigil.” Alistair got up and spoke to one of the Cousins outside the door. He turned back to Rainier, “That’s settled. Sam here will find you in the dining room after he talks to the Seneschal. I could use a snack, myself.” On the way, he asked questions about the Inquisition, Skyhold, and the people, among a variety of topics partly to satisfy his curiosity and partly to get a better sense of the man.

“Thank you, Commander,” Blackwall said gravely. “I appreciate your time. Congratulations to you and Gracie, you’re a very fortunate man.”

Alistair grinned, “I know; I thank the Maker every day.”

“So, what do you think?” Alistair leaned back in his chair and waited for Saykor and Alan to offer their opinions. It was late afternoon, and he’d gotten in the habit of daily debriefings with his top people, first the Arl side and then the Warden side. Nate was at Soldier’s Peak, making sure it was ready for the next round of Joinings now that the world was getting back to normal. Alan would join him in a few days after checking their Denerim compound for any potential recruits. Alistair suspected there wouldn’t be any, but as a new second, he needed time there and at Soldier’s Peak.

“Lane likes him,” Alan offered with a ghost of a grin.

“Of course he does, the man let him take his cinnamon bun. My son is like a mabari when it comes to food,” Alistair rolled his eyes.

“Like his father, too,” Saykor snorted. He shrugged, “Some of the transfers might be uncomfortable, sounds like his crime was pretty infamous, but after Adamant they can’t very well take the, what did that Chantry woman call it, the moral high ground.”

“Did Constable Blackwall know?” Alan asked.

“He may not have cared,” Alistair admitted. “He saw a potential Warden who was willing to come with him. Rainier says he told him his name, but that doesn’t mean the Constable recognized it. Even if he did, I doubt it mattered. Our past lives are ‘erased’ once we become Grey Wardens.”

“Easier in theory than practice,” the youngest (by a small margin) of the three mused.

“Don’t I know it,” Alistair sighed. To many, he was still the royal bastard and a prince despite disavowing any claims to the throne.

Saykor stroked his beard, “Lady J liked him in Haven; Nate and I had a little private ‘Warden’ time with him and later agreed he’d probably be a good candidate. Don’t think he realized just how fortunate he was that she didn’t tell Leliana he wasn’t really a Warden.”

Alistair nodded, “True. She still likes him. She said the man he was made the man he is, but the man he is isn’t the man he was. She can be very philosophical at times, my Janna.” Decision made, he strode to the door, “Time to let him know. He can go with you when you leave, Alan.” Rémy was at the other end of the hallway, “Rémy, do you need anything?”

“Commander,” Auguste-Rémy didn’t bow as he usually did, “your latest recruit took La Belle Femme to the healer just moments past. I was coming to tell you,” he was already speaking to empty air as Alistair took off at a run.

 “What happened?” Alistair, worried husband and father asked as soon as he burst into Brody’s clinic. He grabbed Janna’s hand and looked her over for any signs of anything amiss.

“I am fine, my Ali,” Janna smiled at him.

“Quiet, Gracie,” Rainier quietly commanded. She blinked and was too surprised to say anything. “The man wants truth, not reassurances you can’t back up. Commander, we were on the courtyard steps. I decided to watch your people sparring and was at the bottom when I thought I heard something behind me and turned around. Gracie was at the top; she turned whiter than snow and began swaying. She started to crumple in a dead faint.”

Healer Brody added, “Fortunately, he reached her before she hit stone. Now that you’re here, Commander, I need to ask both of you some questions.” Thom Rainier quietly slipped out to join the group waiting to hear about their Arlessa.

He was still there when they came out an hour later. “Everything’s fine,” Alistair happily informed them. “My Janna just needs to do a few things differently until our little troublemaker is born. Thanks to our newest recruit no harm was done.” Soon it was just a handful of people including Rainier, Saykor, Alan, and Oghren.

“Good thing Grizzly here stopped your tumble, Cherryplum,” Oghren took a pull from his flask and belched.

“Commander,” Rainier/Blackwall frowned, “I didn’t do it so you’d accept me into your ranks.”

“Stop,” the Warden-Commander help up his hand. “As much as I love my Janna I wouldn’t make my decision to accept you as a recruit because of your help. That wouldn’t be fair to you or the other Wardens. No, I made up my mind before I heard what happened. Now I’m going to make sure my wife is properly coddled and pampered. Alan can tell you more,” he smiled and turned away.

“You do not need to fuss, my Ali,” Janna protested.

“Gracie,” Thom waited until she turned to face him. He dropped to one knee and placed his fist over his heart, “Lass, I don’t respect anybody more than the Inquisitor and you. You have a generous spirit and you’ve done so much for Ferelden and Thedas. If your husband or your people want to spoil you a bit to show their appreciation, let them.”

Alistair nudged his wife, “Maybe they should start calling _you_ the Hero of Ferelden.”

“Nuh-uh, you overgrown pike-twirler. She _could_ be the Hero of Thedas and then you’d be HoF and _HoT_ ,” Oghren smirked, pleased with himself.

Thom Rainier threw back his head and roared with laughter, “Maker’s hairy balls, Sera is gonna love it.”


	149. Finding Normal

Rainier finished his training at Soldier’s Peak and returned to the Vigil. Carver and his squad finally returned from Skyhold. The Grand Clerics elected Cassandra to become the new Divine, Vivienne triumphed as the new Grand Enchanter while Fiona quietly agreed to lead the College of Enchanters as their Dean. The Inquisitor was still busy closing rifts all over the place while her top people in the Inquisition continued to track down Venatori nests and red lyrium. In their wake, people rebuilt their homes and their lives. Alistair reorganized his troops and now all his Warden tavern-posts were fully staffed and patrolling once again.

“You two were certainly busy while I was freezing in Skyhold,” Carver teased. His gaze never left the tiny little girl watching him sleepily. A number of Wardens and soldiers were relaxing in the library in front of the fire.

“He forced me to seduce him,” Janna pretended to complain.

“Humph, I didn’t hold a blade to your throat and command you to ‘seduce me or else, wicked wench,’" Alistair snorted. A few close enough to hear began laughing.

Sigrun looked at him and shook her head, “That’s quite a picture, Commander, your ‘blade’ at her throat.” Mentally she began counting down when two blank expressions turned to her, _“Five .  . . four . . .”_

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair let out a gusty sigh, “you people.”

“I missed something again, didn’t I,” Merrill complained. This time she thought she knew what they were laughing at; she looked at Carver and blushed. When a delicate little hand grabbed her finger she looked back down and marveled, “She is so beautiful. You said her name is Kiera . . .”

“Kiera-Anne,” Jannasilane answered, “though my Ali likes to call her Kat.”

Alistair smiled, “To look at her now, lying there so calmly you wouldn’t think she was so impatient that she arrived more than a month early. And I thought demons and darkspawn were scary.” He gazed adoringly at his new daughter before looking at Carver, “Is the new Warden-Commander of Orlais really _Calpernia?_ ”

Carver pretended to shudder, “Don’t remind me. I really put my foot in my mouth when I asked if the First was angry with her for some reason. I don’t think it helped when I also said he might just be annoyed with Orlais, he had an odd sense of humor or was just clueless. I felt positively skewered by the look she gave me. Good thing Ambassador Montilyet was there to explain the ‘unfortunate coincidence’ and suggested it might be more prudent for the Commander to use her surname, Dale, officially.”

“Right, and it won’t be odd since it’s up to each Warden whether they use their first name or not. Although, some don’t have a choice since they only have one. I did receive a missive from her; she said you and your men did well and that she appreciated the anti-Venatori exercises you gave her. She also asked me if we could arrange a meeting to discuss my training program in general. I don’t know what you told her, but she’s curious.”

“You are not going to Orlais without me,” Jannasilane was vehement.

“ _I’m_ not going at all,” he answered. “She suggested we meet somewhere in the middle, like Skyhold but not actually there. I’m thinking she wants to reestablish that Grey Wardens are independent; not part of some other organization. Anyway, it won’t be any time soon, she has a lot to do and so do I. I’d prefer to wait until more rifts are closed between here and there. Carver, have you heard from your sister?” Alistair changed the subject.

The younger warrior shook his head, “No, I only know they arrived in Weisshaupt.”

“You can see what she sent me, if you wish,” the two left the cozy atmosphere in the library to go to the Commander’s office. “Let’s see, I put them here . . . ah, here they are, her and Anders’ reports, all three of them. It’s not much, but maybe you’ll get more out of them than I did. Since there’s no reason for you not to see them, they may say something that means something to you but not Weisshaupt or anybody else.”

Carver lifted an eyebrow, “Paranoid much?” He eagerly reached for the reports.

“Cautious, definitely cautious,” Alistair answered, his tone dry. He waited while the younger Hawke read and reread the documents.

“Tensions, questions, unease, but nothing solid. I think they are, or were, planning to leave the fortress but stay in the closest town until they can’t be any more help. I’m not sure she plans on coming back here any time soon, since she does say it’ll be nice for the children’s school to be up and running again,” Carver returned the documents to Alistair.

“Sorry there’s nothing more,” Alistair put them away. “For what it’s worth, I’d put my money on your sister and Anders any day of the week.”

Two months later Alistair felt like pounding his fist into the wall, “Damn it, Teagan.” Only a pair of birds witnessed his frustration with his adopted uncle. “ _We_ only had to crisscross Ferelden a thousand times. The Inquisitor has been from one side of Ferelden to the other side of Orlais, and into the Free Marches to finish closing these rifts; and that’s just part of the fallout from Corypheus’ actions. Now you’re saying people want the Inquisition to just _go away_?”

Teagan sighed, he knew before he started this conversation Alistair wouldn’t like it. “I’m just telling you what a lot of the Bannorn are feeling. Inquisition soldiers are camped here, there, everywhere. They’re worried, and I don’t blame them. At least some of the Orlesians are talking about encompassing the Inquisition forces into their own, doubling their army. Frankly, a military force the size of the one she commands so close to Redcliffe . . . I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned. First, the Orlesian occupation, then the Blight, and then demons falling from the sky like snowflakes, let’s just say Ferelden could use some breathing space. Eamon is convinced somebody will bring it up at the next Landsmeet. I know the Inquisitor will be here soon, I thought you should know before she got here. I doubt it will come up but I don’t want you to find yourself in the position of making promises you can’t or will find difficult to keep.”

The big blond warrior pinched the bridge of his nose, “No good deed goes unpunished but it would be nice if it could be left alone for awhile. How long before she starts getting the ‘well, what have you done for us lately’s?”

“At least you’re not king,” Teagan reminded him drily, relieved their conversation went as well as it did.

Alistair frowned, “Janna’s not going to like it either.”

“Yes, well, better you than me,” Teagan remarked. He just smiled at the dirty look Alistair gave him.

The next few days were busy as more people arrived at Vigil’s Keep. First, Isabela and Varric arrived from Kirkwall; then the Inquisitor arrived in Amaranthine accompanied by Sera, Dorian, Cole and Iron Bull. Bull’s Chargers brought Sister Dora with them. Rainier was training some of the younger men in different weapon styles when he saw them. “Men, you’re dismissed for the day. We’ll pick up again tomorrow.” He left them to greet his former companions, “Inquisitor, good to see you again. Sera, I’ve missed you girl,” he returned her hug.

“You still give the best hugs,” Sera grinned at him. “Where’s Plushie?”

“They didn’t know exactly when you’d arrive. We can wait in the dining hall; we might even get there before the Commander and Gracie. Help yourselves; one thing about a Warden base is that there is _always_ food available,” he smiled to himself. He was still getting used to his increased appetite. As always, a few Grey Wardens were wandering around. Rainier introduced them to his friends and then pointed them to the Commander’s table.

“Commander! No,” they heard a female voice remonstrate. “They’re still hot.”

“Just makes ‘em better,” they heard a male voice answer, “all fresh, steamy and gooey. Told ya you’d make your fortune here.”

Orana shook her head with a smile and carried the remaining cinnamon buns into the dining hall where the Inquisitor and company waited. Alistair entered, devouring what was left of one, “Mmm, good, ooh, hot,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

Blackwall stood, “Commander . . .”

Alistair stopped him by raising one finger, “Don’t interrupt when I’m tasting greatness.”

“Bet you said that to Cherryplum last night, heh, heh,” Oghren swaggered in behind him.

The Commander spewed what he hadn’t swallowed and glared reproachfully at the dwarf, “That was, was . . .”

“A good job if I say so myself,” the redheaded dwarf clambered into a seat next to Bragaara and looked around the table with a shrewd glance.

Alistair shook his head, “Well, one of these days I’ll make a dignified entrance. Hullo everyone, I’m Alistair, Warden-Commander, Arl of Amaranthine, blah blah blah. No Thom, don’t tell me, let me guess,” he said when Rainier stood to make introductions. “The lovely, regal lady with the green glowy-thingy is Inquisitor Adaar. My lady, it is an honor to meet you,” he bowed respectfully, Warden-style. “You’ve probably heard it a hundred times already but allow me to thank you for what you’ve done for Thedas. I know my people are feeling safer knowing that Old Grumpy Robes won’t be creating any more demon doorways.”

Oghren peered up sideways at her, “So-o-o, you tall mountain of a woman, I bet the climb is worthwhile, heh, heh.” Alistair looked pained. Sera scowled.

“Show some respect, Inquisitor Adaar is a great lady,” Rainier said angrily.

“Don’t get your beard in a knot, Grizzlypuff. She’s still a woman and a mighty handsome one at that,” Oghren shrugged and took a pull from his flask. “But if it makes you feel better I won’t offend your delicate sensibilities and say anything more about her femaleness.”

“Actually, that’s the nicest thing anybody has said to me in a while,” Bragaara remarked ruefully. “Most people just see the Mark and the title.”

The Hero of Ferelden smiled in acknowledgment, “I know exactly what you mean.” They exchanged a look of complete understanding. He turned to the elf next to her, “You must be Sera. Janna says you might be as good an archer as Nate and Leli. That’s saying a lot; we respect their skills a great deal and Leli is like a sister to my Janna.” He lowered his voice, “I also heard you like pranks. My people work hard, so please leave them alone. However,” he lowered his voice even further, “I might turn a blind eye to one prank directed at a certain party.” He nodded ever so slightly towards Oghren and winked.

Sera snickered, “You’re alright, you. Not at all stuck up.”

“I do try,” he grinned back. He then studied a slight youth with blond hair under a large hat who was sitting in the background, “Cole?” Cole nodded. Alistair held out his hand and waited until the younger man hesitantly took it, “Thank you. My Janna might not be here today if it weren’t for you.”

“I wanted to help,” Cole earnestly replied. “She was hurting and I wanted to help.”

“You did. When I first saw her in Redcliffe, well, just know you are always welcome at the Vigil as long as I’m here. I owe you a great deal, more than I can ever repay.”

“I’m glad I helped,” Cole said. He was uncomfortable being the recipient of so much attention from the warrior. He was also pleased and somewhat surprised but he wished the large warrior with the titles would move on. After one thoughtful look, Alistair did just that.

“I feel like I know you already,” he took Sister Dora’s hand in his and kissed it like a courtier, flustering the Chantry sister a great deal. “Sister Dora, giver of Starphire and good friend to Jannalove. She told me a great deal about you; I was happy she found a friend in Haven. I think you made her stay easier for her. Janna also told me you enjoy exploring new places even if it’s only through books. I’m happy to tell you we have some interesting items in the library you might like. Some of them are very well written; they make you feel like you’re there, wherever there is. I’m not sure how accurate they are,” he added with a chuckle, “I haven’t been to a lot of those places so I sometimes wonder if the author put artistry over fact but I think you’ll enjoy them.”

“Th-thank you, my lord,” Dora was still flustered.

“Alistair, please, just call me Alistair. My lord sounds like some stuffy noble,” he teased.

Dora relaxed, “Alistair, where is Janna?”

“I think she was in the garden with Trouble when you arrived. As eager as she is to see you she’d have wanted to clean up first. I expect her any minute now. I’ll have to be careful not to trip over her,” he deadpanned.

Rainier snorted, “You know Gracie hates it when you say things like that.”

“My love isn’t here right now, is she,” Alistair retorted with a smirk and studied Dorian. “Hmm, with all those sparkles, I’m guessing you’re Dorian, and, since my powers of deduction are incredible and I don’t see any other Qunari, you must be the Iron Bull. This group with you is the Chargers?”

Iron Bull, “The finest band of mercenaries you’ll ever meet.” He began introducing them, leaving his lieutenant for last.

“Krem, isn’t it?” Alistair finished for him.

Krem looked at Alistair, a rare human not dwarfed by his leader, and grinned, “So, you’re the Hero of Ferelden, no wonder Spitnails wasn’t impressed with the boss.”

“Yes, I’d say the Champion severely underestimated your appeal,” Dorian twirled the end of his mustache and eyed the handsome warrior. He thought the Warden-Commander looked quite attractive in his dark green leather trousers and tunic, the open-necked shirt revealed a nicely formed neck and the gold sash emphasized his trim physique.

“Uh, okay,” Alistair wasn’t quite sure how to reply. Isabela didn’t help when she snuck up on him and pinched his bottom.

“Sorry, I’ve got dibs if either Alistair or his sexy sweetie want to run away,” she winked at Sera.

“Watch it Krem de la Krem,” Iron Bull chastised his lieutenant before looking at his lover. “As for you, careful, or you might make Wildling angry.”

“Is she the only one?” the Tevene smirked. Iron Bull grinned back, a hot promise in his eye.

Alistair turned around to watch his Janna coming towards them, Duncan and Lane at her side. Varric was behind them, holding baby Kat in his arms. Alistair smiled and held out his hand, “Hello, my love; and how are Miss Trouble and my two little men?”

“Wanna meet Quizzie,” Lane responded with a big smile. He took the cinnamon bun Rainier offered to him and took a large bite.

“Like father, like son,” Jannasilane rolled her eyes. “I see you’ve met my Ali. Welcome to Vigil’s Keep.” She talked briefly to each of them before settling beside the Chantry sister. “I’m so glad Mother Ghiselle gave you leave to come to Amaranthine,” she said to Dora.

“I’m going to be in Ferelden for a while. She wants me, starting with Amaranthine, to visit the chantries and find out what they need. Divine Victoria wants to make sure Chantry resources are carefully allocated and don’t just ‘go to the squeakiest wheel.’” The former Seeker was a bit more forceful than that but Dora didn’t think she needed to repeat her exact words. “Can I hold her?” Carefully Varric transferred the baby girl into Dora’s arms. “She’s beautiful,” she said in an awed whisper.

“Adorable Girl,” Dorian wasn’t interested in hearing about Chantry business, “you are positively glowing.” He pulled her up so he could spin her around in front of him, letting the hem of her mint green overdress flounce in the air and exposing more of her deep chocolaty-bronze underskirt as well as shapely ankles. The cream-and-chocolate piping on the mint added flattering lines to the dress and highlighted Jannasilane’s figure. “Motherhood becomes you,” he looked over Dora’s shoulder to see the babe watching him. “I think she takes after you, especially the eyes. She’s watching me so she obviously has exquisite taste.”

Sera elbowed the Inquisitor, “Elfina looks different. She looks, I dunno, more.”

Bragaara agreed, “Lush. She looks like a lush Plushie.” Sera smirked in agreement. Maybe it was being with her family, but Jannasilane did look different, a little softer, a little fuller, and definitely happier.

“Felsi will make sure you’re comfortable, Krem,” Janna was reassuring Bull more than she was his lieutenant. “I figured you’d be more comfortable if you were all together. The Vigil is going to be crowded, so soon you’ll have company,” she didn’t add that they didn't allow any armed group to stay within fortress walls.

Alistair was talking to the Inquisitor when Varric approached them, “Hey, Inquisitor, I hate to ask, but we have a situation in Kirkwall. It’s a rift. Underwater.”

“Let me guess, demons don’t drown,” Alistair snorted.

Varric agreed, “That’s right, Snowflake. Not even the fiery ones snuff out. Problem is, we can’t take ‘em out until they get on land and the damn thing is in the middle of our harbor. No ship captain wants to come near us and lack of trade is bringing the city to a standstill.”

Bragaara sighed, “I understand Varric. I’m sorry Alistair,” she shook her head; “I’ll have to come back for the Blackmarsh and the Brecelian Forest.”

The Commander shrugged, “Can’t be helped, believe me when I say I understand. If you could just close a couple in Amaranthine that are more central, I’d appreciate it. Maybe it’s for the best, when you return Janna will be able to come with us, she can sense the demons while I watch out for darkspawn. Huh, I see from Garevel’s expression that it’s time for me to do Arl stuff. Now that people aren’t afraid to leave their homes I have a backlog of cases to hear; holding court is s-o-o-o much fun.” He nodded and walked over to Janna for a quick word. Briefly, he cupped her face in his hand and caressed her cheek with his thumb. She smiled up at him.

“They glow,” Cole said with wonder after coming out of the shadows. “Their bond, it glows. Not like your hand, hurting, green and mean, pulsing, hating. It’s red, hot like a raging fire and warm like a kitchen hearth, flaring and flickering but ever steady, ever warming, never hurting, never burning. Even the spirits see, some of them. It grows and enfolds but doesn’t take or destroy.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, kid,” Varric agreed but Sera had one word for Cole.

“Pffftt.”


	150. Yes, About That . . .

“Varric likes Cole but he thinks we’re nuts,” Alistair and Jannasilane were watching Cole, Varric, Sister Dora, Lady Ginetta, and Ser Thornton leaving her garden.

“Maybe he’s just upset that Cole thinks there’s nothing godlike about _him_ ,” Janna snickered. She leaned against him, enjoying this brief respite, nobody but her, her Ali, and their baby in the gazebo. Some butterflies, bees, and a couple of birds flitting here and there were their only observers.

Alistair chuckled, “Note to self, be careful how we phrase things around him. Actually, after Shale, Sten, and Justice we shouldn’t have to practice. You should have seen Adaar’s face when he accosted us in the courtyard telling her that he ‘wasn’t a god, didn’t want to be a god, and nobody could make him become a god’.” He slid his arm around his wife and baby daughter and lazily watched the two birds light on the rosebush next to the gazebo. “To be fair, I don’t see how we could anticipate his thinking godfather meant we wanted him to be a god.”

“I think he likes the idea of being her guardian and protector,” Janna was thinking of the moment she placed Kiera in Cole’s arms.

_She stood in front of Cole with Kiera-Anne, “Hold out your arms, please.” When he did, she placed the baby in them. “Like this,” she helped him arrange his arms and hands so that he held her properly, “look at her, we’re asking you to protect her and help her if needed. You won’t be alone, Sister Dora, Ser Thornton, and Lady Ginetta have also agreed to be Kiera’s godparents. If something happens to us before Kiera is grown up, you will work together and take care of her like Varric will for Lane.”_

_Cole stared at the babe in his arms. At first, he panicked but then, as she stared back at him, he felt more connected to this world than he ever had. He tried to help people but for the first time somebody depended on him. This tiny, perfect, fragile human depended on him not to hurt her or drop her. “She is amazing,” he whispered in awe, “but why me? You don’t know really know me.” He couldn’t bring himself to look away from Kiera-Anne. Tentatively he brushed her face with the tip of his finger, “She smiled at me! She’s happy.”_

_“Told you it wasn’t gas,” the Warden-Commander murmured to his wife, “you always say it’s gas when a baby smiles at me.” He cleared his throat before speaking to Cole, “Nobody forced you to come to Redcliffe in order to help my Janna, but you came. You try to help people even when it isn’t easy and that’s not a bad example for my children. Leliana told us that you used to be a spirit but somehow became more human than spirit. That’s odd,” Alistair scratched the back of his head, “but we’ve seen a lot of odd things in the past decade or so. I’m not sure if you’re even in the top ten. The world is changing and you have a unique perspective; I have a hunch your perceptions will be very important in the coming years.”_

“I think he was also most relieved that a templar was going to be co-godfather.” She snickered, “Some people might think we’ve gone a bit far ensuring our children were exposed to a variety of influences and backgrounds.”

“Ha, let’s see, several nobles, a bard, Wardens, chantry, merchant and storyteller, a pirate, monarchs, warriors, an assassin, a non-Circle mage, and now a former spirit. I prefer to think of it as preparing our children as much as possible for a world that is already far different from before the Blight. Speaking of monarchs, do you think Blake will come?”

“I hope so,” Janna answered doubtfully. They were both worried about their friend, since his return to Ferelden he performed his duties as king but was otherwise reclusive, even from his family and Zevran. “Eamon is staying in Denerim so he doesn’t have an excuse to avoid us.”

“We’ll know tomorrow,” Alistair shrugged. If his friend didn’t come to them, then he was going to get a visitor. He smiled down at his baby girl, “So, Kiera-Anne Theirin, are you ready to meet your king and queen?” The two birds squawked and agitatedly took flight. “I wonder what got into them,” he watched them fly off with one raised eyebrow.

“Starphire likes to lie beneath the roses. Perhaps they just noticed her,” Janna answered. “I don’t see her, but then I don’t always see her if she wishes to remain invisible. I suppose we should rejoin our guests before the children finish their lessons. Did Merrill enjoy watching the Inquisitor close the rifts?” she smiled at her warrior as they left the garden.

“You’d think it was a magic trick developed just for her amusement,” Alistair rolled his eyes, but it was all in good nature. “She asked a lot of questions. I think Lady Bragaara was a bit dazed; Merrill sometimes has that effect. Sometimes I find myself waiting for her to ask what the definition of ‘is’ is.”

“Stop,” Jannasilane laughed.

Not far away, in Stroud’s Grove, as Martelle called it after he died, two agitated birds flew around looking for danger. Seeing none, they fluttered to the ground and were still. The air shimmered around them with magical energy and a moment later the birds were gone and Morrigan was facing her son. “Did you hear that, Mother? The Hero of Ferelden named his daughter Kiera-Anne,” Kieran asked excitedly, his eyes were bright with pleasure and awe. “What does it mean?”

Morrigan couldn’t help smiling, “I doubt it is a coincidence. That Warden, Stroud, must have mentioned meeting you.” So many thoughts were racing behind her smile, _“After our talk I assumed he, if not another, would mention my presence at Skyhold. However, I didn’t expect the templar to name his daughter after my, our, son. The fool never does what I expect him to do. This is his way of acknowledging Kieran even if Kieran never knows it.”_ She wasn’t angry or even irritated as she might have been once when she thought of Alistair. Ever since meeting Stroud in Skyhold she’d been preparing for this day.

“Mother . . . Mother,” Kieran finally got Morrigan’s attention. “Where were you, Mother? You were so deep in thought, is something wrong?”

“No, just thinking,” she reassured him.

“Do you think I could meet him, the Hero?” he asked. Kieran knew his mother never liked talking about the Blight more than she could help, but surely, things were different now.

As if she could read his mind, “Kieran, I think it’s time we discussed the Blight and your father,” Morrigan answered.

“You’ve never wanted to talk about him before,” he frowned uncertainly.

She smiled ruefully, “It wasn’t time before. Let us sit,” Morrigan sat down gracefully and waited for her son to follow suit. “I know we discussed that your . . . conception was needed to save the soul of an Old God, so he could be reborn without the Taint.”

“Yes, Mother,” Kieran replied. “I also remember you telling me that it meant a Grey Warden didn’t have to die when he killed the Archdemon, which is what normally happens. That a Grey Warden has to be the one to kill the Archdemon to stop its spirit from inhabiting another darkspawn but because of your ritual the Old God’s spirit could find a home and the Archdemon stopped without the Warden’s death. You said Father was a good man who was willing to help you save both.”

“You make me sound unselfish. I think it is time you know more than the bare bones I told you then.” Morrigan told him everything about Flemeth’s plan to spare the Grey Wardens, the ritual that would save their, the Wardens’, lives. She didn’t spare herself in the telling. “I was hard and uncaring because that’s how I was taught. When I felt differently, I ruthlessly pushed aside those softer feelings; I was arrogant and even cruel. The Warden who came to me in order to complete the ritual was the one I thought most likely to refuse. So many times I berated and belittled him when we traveled together, mistaking his kindness and compassion for weakness. Certainly, if he had treated me impersonally or even coldly I would not have blamed him for at his hands I didn’t deserve more. Instead, he was generous and considerate. It was a difficult decision for him; not seeing the child he created was going to hurt him and only later, after you were born, did I understand how much. He also loves another, a true and deep love. His love supported his decision before he made it, but I know he still felt he was committing an act of betrayal.”

“But you’re not unfeeling and hard, Mother,” Kieran protested.

Morrigan smiled a sweet and loving smile only her son ever saw, “Because of you, little man, because of you. I began to change the first time I felt you move. You weren’t just a means to an end but a life I helped to create, a tiny person I was determined to protect at all costs. The Warden that night, I was always grateful for the gift he gave me. I just didn’t realize then that the gift wasn’t realizing Flemeth’s plans, but you, Kieran not Urthemiel.”

Kieran was trying to absorb everything she told him. He understood more than the usual child his age, thanks not just to Morrigan’s education but the years he spent with Urthemiel, it didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together. He discounted what his mother told him about her cruelty, that wasn’t the mother he knew. “That’s why you didn’t want Grandmother to take me,” he said slowly. She nodded and waited. “The Grey Wardens survived, which means my father is alive. The Hero of Ferelden named his daughter . . . does that mean that the Hero is my father?” his eyes opened wide at the prospect. In a short time, he’d gone from no father to a father who also happened to be a hero, _the_ Hero. Even for a child as mature as Kieran, it was a lot to take in. He needed to think. Quickly, he shifted into a small falcon and flew into the trees.

Morrigan stood up, alarmed, and shouted after him, “Kieran, Kieran, don’t . . .” She debated going after him, but was afraid she’d drive him farther away. She was going to do the one thing she hated, wait. She sank back to the ground and closed her eyes. She hoped she was doing the right thing. If he wasn’t back in an hour, she was going to find her son. _“He’s not defenseless; he knows a great deal more magic than I did at his age and I’ve taught him well about surviving in the wild, no matter the form he’s in. He’s gone off on his own before and come back safely. I have to trust he won’t let his emotions overrule his sense.”_

Kieran didn’t go far. He flew up into the sky and then circled the grove, sometimes lighting on a branch for a moment before taking wing once again. He flew to feel the breeze around him and through his feathers; he flew in order not to think. Once he felt calmer, he quietly maneuvered through the trees until he could see his mother while remaining hidden. Kieran even contemplated going to the Vigil, _“I could just watch, like I, we, did before. Maybe I could even meet him if I find him alone.”_ He was tempted, but also scared, _“What if he doesn’t like me when he meets me? What if he doesn’t want to meet me at all? I know Warden Stroud said he would, but he could have just been trying to be nice. Adults do that sometimes. I mean, he didn’t know, did he?”_ He watched his mother start pacing around the small clearing, then force herself to sit back down. _“Mother doesn’t pace, she says if you’re strong you don’t need to pace in order to calm yourself and think clearly.”_

“Mother,” Kieran flew down and shifted.

“Kieran,” Morrigan sighed in relief, “you’re back. I was . . . concerned.”

“I wanted to go to Vigil’s Peak,” her son admitted, “but, what if he doesn’t like me?”

“Then he’s a fool,” she answered tartly. “I told him so many times but that would certainly confirm my early opinions.”

Oddly enough, her response made Kieran feel better. “Mother, did Warden Stroud know? Is that why he was so patient with all my questions?”

Morrigan wanted to rush forward and hold him tight, but that was never her way and she felt awkward even thinking about it. She contented herself with approaching him and brushing his hair back before answering him, “I don’t know. I think he suspected _something_ but Wardens learn to keep their secrets. I never planned for you to meet Alistair,” she mused, her brow creased in a slight frown, “but so much has changed since that night before the final battle. Come, we shall go to the City of Amaranthine. From there we can send a message to your father after we devise a plan for this meeting of yours. The marketplace is always good for gossip but I find the best places are taverns and Chantries, though I doubt any of the Revered Mothers would appreciate the comparison,” she sneered slightly.

“You’d be willing to go inside a Chantry?”

His mother snorted, “That will hardly be necessary. We just need to find a reasonable location near the entrance. People often linger before entering and after departing, we can use this habit to our advantage.” 

Later that day a hooded widow woman and her son entered the City and quietly inquired about boarding houses or even a small house that might be available for a short time.


	151. Royal Pain

The next day, Alistair was watching his wife get ready with a frown on his face, “You’re going to make me crazy, you know that? I’ll probably trip over my feet because I’ll be watching you, Zevran will say something and people will laugh.”

Jannasilane turned around, her eyes wide in feigned innocence, “You don’t like it, my Ali? I thought I looked nice,” she pouted and spun around slowly.

"You look beautiful and you know it," he retorted, frowning even more. The brilliant cobalt blue velvet flattered her coloring. It had the smallest of cap sleeves and a modest v-shaped neckline. Rather than simply being gathered or belted at the waist, it had several long, vertical tucks that neatly defined her figure. The full skirt flared at the bottom so that it flounced when she walked. That's not what was causing him to scowl. Over the blue, she wore a light bronze lace vest, _"well, I'm not sure that's lace, it looks more like a silk rope outline for a vest,"_ that was the foundation for layers of beaded fringe. The sleeve and necklines followed those of the blue dress so that fringe flowed around her arms as well. The bottom of the 'vest' scooped below her rear in the back and flowed up to the front ending a few inches below her navel. The fringe extended just below the bottom of her blue dress. The 'randomly' placed beads were different shades of bronze, gold and cobalt. When she spun around like that, well, Alistair knew he was going to have a long day. He sighed and shook his head, "At least you don't have any bows. I don't think I could take it if you had bows as well."

She laughed and spun one more time, letting the fringe twirl around her before staring at her reflection. She bit her bottom lip, "Is it too much, wearing the Cousland sapphire?"

Alistair approached her, he put his hands lightly on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, "I like your hair this way, I don't know how Orana did it, but it's nice." It looked like she had loosely pulled her hair back into an abandoned braid, and then allowed it to flow in wild curls below the last twining. He met his wife's gaze in the mirror, "I didn't really notice it," he admitted with a quick grin. He shrugged, "If Leliana were here you could ask her. Isabela would just say yes, she's all for shiny bling; she'll probably try to steal it. I say if you want to wear it, wear it. Now that you pointed it out to me, I like how it's nestled near the top of your 'most magnificent bosom.' Since Fergus and Blake are here, I think it's fine. Of course, I'm not exactly a king of fashion."

She turned around and smoothed her hands across his tunic, "You look most handsome, my Ali. I always like how you look in your Warden dress uniform and the bands with sapphire; this is truth."

"That reminds me, don't move," he cautioned her and then ran downstairs to his office where he had hidden a surprise for her. "I had these made for you," he said when he returned. "I hope you like them," he opened the box for her.

"They are beautiful," she breathed, looking at two matching gold and silver armbands. Instead of being solid like his, they had an open design mimicking the griffons etched in his. Tiny sapphires were set in the narrow top and bottom circles anchoring the design.

"Not as beautiful as you are, my love," he said in a hoarse whisper. He carefully placed them on her upper arms, "You have given me so much, this is the least I could do." He bent down for a kiss, a kiss cut short when somebody knocked on the door and reminded them of the time. "Well," he rested his forehead against hers, "we'll finish this tonight. Maybe you could wear just the armbands and your fringe thingy," he said hopefully.

Janna looked up at him and grinned, "I will, if you'll wear your bands, boots and cape."

"Really? My boots?" He shook his head, "Thank the Maker you’re such a wicked woman." He held his arm out to her, "Let's join the others, shall we? Maybe we'll get our daughter back from Dora and Cole."

“I should probably see how Martelle is doing as ‘hostess’ for all the children,” Janna considered.

Alistair shook his head, “Nuh-uh. Nope. You went over all the plans with her and explained what you expect. Tina is there, with a couple of others, to keep an eye on the younger ones and ready to help if Marty needs anything. You even allowed her to make some of the decisions; if you check on her now, she’ll think you don’t trust her. She’s a smart girl; if she needs us, she’ll come get us, or send one of the boys. For that matter, Strake will be helping her. He can be a lot more unobtrusive than his father,” he reminded her.

“Isabela is more discreet than Oghren,” Janna rolled her eyes. “You’re right; I know you are and I’m just nervous on her behalf. Varel’s assistant, Candira, and the Professor are also on the roof, although I think it’s more because he’s scared Isabela really will tuck him in her pocket and carry him away.”

“Half scared, half curious,” Alistair muttered. They entered the ballroom, currently decorated with comfortable chairs and small tables in several groupings of different sizes. Buffet tables were set up and different foods would be set out at different times, wine, ale, fruit punch, coffee and hot tea would be available all day into late evening. Special tables were in one area for different parlor games, even Wicked Grace and Diamondback if enough people were interested. Also scattered around the room were souvenirs: interesting journals, relics, curiosities, and even the drawings of Haven and the temple of Andraste before any renovations. General Lee joined Poorfella, Starphire and Nugflutter as they patrolled the perimeter and took care of any dropped delicacy. Flowers and candles contributed to the air of casually elegant comfort. Wardens, soldiers, and others from the Vigil were free to come and go as their duties permitted though Alistair doubted most would. For all the fancy trimmings, this event was primarily for their friends and family; even Levi Dryden was here.

“Well, well,” Dorian murmured approval at the visions entering the room. “The Arl and Arlessa are quite stunning.”

Sigrun grinned, “Is she rewarding him or punishing him?”

Isabela smirked, “Alistair’s going to be calling on all his templar training tonight, lucky thing.”

“Why? Is there going to be any weird magic stuff happening and what’s it have to do with Plushie? She’s looking,” she glanced in Oghren’s direction and snickered, “ _hot_.”

Iron Bull laughed, “Seems the Commander has a thing for his lady in fringe. He’s trying not to stare but he keeps giving her quick glances before looking away even more quickly. Ben-Hassrath training,” he explained to Teagan and others just joining them.

“You must be the spynari my friend told us about,” Teagan smiled affably, hoping the conversation wouldn’t remain on Alistair’s interest in his wife. As good-humored as his adopted nephew was, Teagan saw no need to test his limits on this occasion.

“Hear that Chief? You finally got your own nickname,” Krem teased. “Good to see you again, Arl Teagan, glad it’s under better circumstances.”

“Agreed,” Teagan laughed. “Ah, Alistair, Janna, you two are certainly looking attractive this fine day. It must be the _fringe_ connection,” he gave in to temptation.

“Teagan!” Ginetta remonstrated.

“No worries, my lady,” Alistair bowed over her hand, “I see no reason to apologize for being a lucky, lucky man.”

Dorian laughed, “Well said, well said indeed.”

“Janna,” Redcliffe’s Arlessa turned to her hostess, “the boys are happily settled on the roof. Your daughter is taking her duties seriously and with only a little nervousness. She seems to be enjoying herself.”

“Of course she’s having fun,” Alistair answered. “Now she has an excuse to be bossy, she’s so like her mother.”

“Quiet, my Ali,” Jannasilane commanded with a smile and a sniff, “I am not at all bossy. I am positively meek and mild.” Everybody laughed. A short time later, the Cousland family, both Teyrn and King, joined the gathering and the party officially started. Kiera-Anne, except for small absences, watched the goings on from her place of honor or somebody’s arms with Cole in almost constant attendance.

Zevran was the first to reach Jannasilane and began spinning her around in an impromptu dance, “You are most beautiful this day, my Pocket Goddess. And so very twirly and sparkly.” He brought them to a stop in front of Queen Anora.

“Zevran is certainly correct; he often is,” Anora smiled wryly. “Alistair,” she nodded gracefully.

“Careful, you’ll give him a swelled head,” Alistair rolled his eyes.

“Too late for that,” Blake snorted with more bite than was normal for him. Then he softened his words with a smile, “It’s been a difficult year for everyone.”

“I am most annoyed with you, my Blake,” Jannasilane scowled at her old friend. “My scar is just ugly but yours is wickedly sexy, it is most unfair.” She studied the mark that cut across his cheekbone and then down the right side of his face, looking like a curved number seven.

“Then you shouldn’t go chasing dragons,” he retorted, the edge back in his words.

Alistair ignored his friend’s tone, “I’m guessing William and his cousins are on the roof already?”

Blake didn’t answer. Fergus hugged her, “Ignore my brother, little sister. Where is this ugly scar of yours? You are perfection itself.”

As was their custom when members of the Bannorn weren’t present, they didn’t introduce Blake and Anora by their titles. Alistair even went so far as to call her Annie. Once. Anora approached the Inquisitor, “Inquisitor, allow me to thank you in person for the assistance your people provided when I suspected Venatori spies infiltrated the castle kitchens. It was fortunate indeed that they accompanied Alistair and his family to Denerim.”

“Fireballs whizzing and curses flying, it was like old times,” Alistair reminisced.

“Too bad our head of security didn’t prevent it from happening at all,” Blake responded without looking at Zevran.

Zevran didn’t have a chance to reply, not that he could deny the charge. Instead, Anora replied and diffused the slight tension Blake’s remarks created, “Fortunately for us all, Zevran discovered the participants early and turned the tables. They didn’t get to achieve their ends and he uncovered their entire, I believe cell is the correct term. We were forming a plan of attack when Alistair arrived. I must say, Alistair, your timing was most providential. Nobody could have any reason to suspect that Zevran’s visit to an old friend was anything else.”

“And it would have been more suspicious for me not to call on the Queen,” Alistair grinned. “Can’t have the Arl of Amaranthine and Warden-Commander insulting the Crown, can we? Too bad about the cheese, though.”

“Cheese? You got Venatori shites mucking about and you’re all bothered about cheese?” Sera was incredulous.

“Hey,” Alistair protested, “it was an entire wheel of very good cheese.” He stood, “all this talk of cheese has made me hungry. Did you know Marty asked if she could use my Ferelden Sharp Gold as a prize? I think she only asked just so she could laugh at my reaction. Once again I get no respect.”

“You poor thing,” Isabela purred and wrapped her arms around him, “I’ll give you plenty of . . . respect.” She stroked Kitcat’s hair, “I’ll _respect_ both of you.”

“I was told to ask Varric about you, when I was still Ben-Hassrath. Now I can ask you directly . . . why don’t we take a stroll and you can satisfy my curiosity,” Iron Bull dared her and offered his arm. He hated not knowing things.

Isabela narrowed her eyes and then smiled. She took his arm and snuggled close as they walked away, “You seem much more likeable than other Qunari. I can understand why some want to ‘ride the Bull.’” Over her head, the Bull winked at Dorian, to that one’s amusement.

“Isabela is . . .” Alistair shook his head.

“Yep,” Varric chuckled. Groups formed and broke apart as people moved around and talked to others. Sigrun demonstrated the finer arts of picking pockets to Sera. Sera argued with Merrill about ‘elfy’ stuff. Dorian discussed fine wine with Fergus, Teagan, and Anora. Bragaara had a quiet word with the man she knew as Blackwall to satisfy herself he was doing well. Nathaniel, Ginetta, and Krem discussed archery while Sera rolled her eyes. Rainier, Carver, Ser Thornton and Iron Bull discussed tactics. Varric got Sister Dora to play a few hands of Wicked Grace, but only because no money changed hands. General Lee made sure no food stayed on the floor. People were moving around, sitting, and standing. All paid their respects to Kiera-Anne.

Blake was staring at the drawings of Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes when Jannasilane joined him, “The ones of the Temple are very much like what we saw a decade ago, are they not, my Blake?” He looked down at her then back at the drawings before nodding in agreement. She made a decision. She took his arm and began leading him away, “Do you mind if we leave the others for a moment? Sometimes I get more tired than I used to . . .” they were out of the ballroom and moving towards the Commander’s office.

“You should see Janna’s gazebo before you return to Denerim,” Alistair was speaking to Anora and Mhairi. He noticed Blake didn’t look happy and hoped his wife knew what she was doing. He resolved to follow them in a few minutes.

Anora lowered her lashes ever so slightly to let Alistair know she also saw them. “Yes, it was a very nice thing you and the children did to welcome her home. It’s no secret she loves spending time in her garden. Did she tell you, Mhairi, about the lanterns colored with the children’s pictures? I look forward to seeing it for myself though I confess I can’t quite picture it, but it sounds charming.” Adroitly, she drew Krem, the Inquisitor and Ginetta Guerrin into the conversation when Alistair excused himself.

Zevran was careful not to stay too long with any one group. He was watching _his_ Warden carefully, something he would have done even if Her Majesty hadn’t requested it, _“Something is wrong and he will not tell me, his friend and lover. He almost seems afraid. Braska! Let us hope the magnificent Pocket Goddess can breach those walls of his and lance the poison. Ah, Alistair is slowly following them, I think I shall do the same.”_

Discretion was for naught when Blake began yelling at Jannasilane. Alistair quickened his pace with Fergus, Anora, and Zevran close behind him. From the other direction Sister Dora, Varric, and Dorian were returning from a brief trip to the roof to observe the children and for the Sister to deliver a prize to Martelle. They also couldn’t help witnessing the King shouting in the hallway outside Alistair’s office.

Blake was oblivious to his audience. Ever since his return, he’d been using every ounce of will and strength not to lash out at his loved ones. When Package quietly confronted him, he didn’t have anything left and he snapped. He tried, Maker knew he tried, but all the bile, all the unreasoning hate and anger and pain and uncertainty, were desperate for the release he’d denied them. The better part of him stood apart and watched in horror as he snarled at Package. He accused her of poking her nose where it didn’t belong, that his business was his and she could damn well stay out of it. She got pale, and the part of him looking on felt heartsick at her hurt expression. That part of him was proud she stood up to him even though he wished she wouldn’t because he couldn’t stop what was coming next.

“Something is not right, my Blake. We can’t help you if you refuse to talk to us. You shouldn’t have left without taking another Warden with you, not when you were-”

“Enough!” the image of her friend snarled. His better self watched helplessly as he lifted up his hand, the one with the cane, raising it as if he were going to strike, “Shut up, shut up, shut UP you miserable little bi-” His head exploded and all was black.

“Not even the fucking King insults my Janna,” Alistair snarled. He stared down at his friend, his fists clenching and unclenching while he got himself under control. Maker help him, he wanted to hit him again. He looked at his wife. She was staring at Blake with a frown, hurt and worry causing her to chew her bottom lip. He bent down and hauled the unconscious Blake over one shoulder, then walked the short distance to his wife.

She looked up at him and smiled sadly, “He didn’t want to hit me or say those terrible things; this is truth.”

Alistair’s response was to stroke the side of her face with his free hand before scooping her up in a one-armed embrace, “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Not sorry I hit him, though.” She lightly caressed his cheek before wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. He didn’t glance at anybody else as he headed to their private quarters.

“Zevran,” Anora spoke quietly.

He understood perfectly, “Do not worry, oh lovely Rose of Ferelden, I shall make sure no permanent harm is done as a result of His Majesty’s unfortunate fall. On this you have my word,” he bowed and lithely followed the man holding his lover. He made sure not to betray any of the concerns eating away at him.

“That was certainly impressive, even inspiring,” Dorian twirled the ends of mustache and smiled slightly.

 “It was so romantic,” Sister Dora sighed once Alistair was out of sight, “like something out of Swords and Shields.”

“You actually read that cra- drivel, Sister?” Varric was incredulous. “I think I’m going to have to have another word with my publisher,” he muttered.

“It certainly isn’t boring,” Dorian smiled slightly, relieved that the Commander stopped the King from hurting their hostess. He laughed, “I now understand why the adorable girl wasn’t impressed with Iron Bull when they met in Haven. Your Hero is almost as strong as a Qunari.” With Anora’s gentle promptings, they, except for Fergus, went back into the ballroom and mingled with the others. Varric promised to send Sister Dora autographed copies of all his books and then organized a game of Wicked Grace. Fergus followed Zevran, determined to find out why his brother attacked their little sister.

Upstairs, Alistair dumped Blake in a bathtub and poured a pitcher of cold water over his head. He pulled up a chair and sat down while His Wardesty sputtered into consciousness. “Explain!” he barked. Jannasilane stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders while she watched her friend with sad eyes whirling in distress.

Blake stared at her, misery visible in his entire body, “Maker, Package, I never wanted to hurt you, please believe me.” He rubbed the water out of his face and pushed his hair back. “I saw what I was doing and couldn’t stop; for so long . . . thank you,” he addressed Alistair. “I don’t know how long it will last, but I’m more myself than I have been for some time. It started when I was gone, forging new relationships with countries farther away. Trying to, at least, though it might be some years yet before anything comes of it. I also, as you know, hoped to find a cure for the Taint. Or if not a cure something that would mitigate some of the worst drawbacks. Do you know what it’s like to be where nobody has ever seen darkspawn? They looked at me as if I was crazy when I tried to explain what and how horrible they were. That was before I became ill.”

“You said nothing to me or to your lovely bride,” Zevran frowned at him.

“Or to me,” Fergus entered the room.

Blake ignored them, “It was some sort of fever. Common for them but to somebody who’d never been there before it was bad. I don’t know if being a Warden made it better or worse.”

Now Alistair frowned, “That’s odd, one thing we have going for us is that we don’t usually get sick or if we do we’re only mildly affected.”

“They treated me and gave me some potions, I have them with me, but Maker’s breath, I don’t know which is worse. Whether it’s the fever, the cure, or a combination of both, I feel like I’m fighting myself and losing. It’s all I can do to control my actions and words when I have to do my duty. I’m afraid of what I might do or say even to my son,” he admitted in a defeated whisper.

“Fighting yourself? Like fighting off a demon?” Alistair knew what it was like to feel so much anger you were choking on it, but this sounded different. He quietly recited the Litany and performed a mana cleanse just in case, though he thought it unlikely.

The King and Grey Warden was shaking his head, “No, I don’t think so. It feels more internal, more personal than that. I’m not hearing any voices in my head,” he added with a trace of his old humor.

“I sense no demon, or spirit,” Jannasilane spoke for the first time since Alistair dumped Blake in the tub. “It might be easier to fight if there were.”

Blake snorted, “What a thing to hope for.” He shook his head, “I was going to tell you later, after some of your guests were gone. I want to stay for a while and work with your healers. If my Grey Warden blood is part of the problem, then I need Grey Warden healers I can trust. Also, I don’t have to worry about somebody hesitating to take me down if I lose control,” he pointed to the side of his face where Alistair hit him.

“My pleasure,” Alistair deadpanned.

“This is all most disturbing,” Fergus frowned. “You should have said something.”

“I am saying something,” Blake answered him. “In this room I don’t have to worry about the wrong person overhearing or misconstruing what I say. Anora would want to bring in healers, but they wouldn’t have much experience with Grey Wardens and word would get out. Ferelden needs the sense of peace and stability we’ve brought it; I don’t want to jeopardize what we worked so hard to obtain. Zev would suggest sex to relieve the tension,” he smiled crookedly at the man he loved, “but that would be too dangerous.” He stopped smiling.

“Oh? Too dangerous for an assassin?” Zevran lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes. If I let my control go for even a minute, I can’t stop my actions, just as I couldn’t stop myself yelling at my little sister or even trying to hit her. I’m afraid that viciousness and anger would rule even after your spirit was long gone from your bruised body. I’d rather kill myself than risk someone I care about. Not all the safe words in the world would be able to stop me.”

“Safe words?” Alistair questioned and immediately regretted it, “never mind, I really, _really_ don’t want to know.”

Jannasilane moved from behind her Ali and took Blake’s hand, “I understand, my Blake.”

“I thought you might,” he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I’m so very sorry, Package. It hurts to know I would have hit you.”

“You would have _tried_ ,” she sniffed disdainfully.

Fergus laughed, “It seems you are in the right place, little brother. As distressing as your news is, I’m glad you have a plan. Since you need Warden expertise, I’ll take my leave. Before I rejoin the party, I’ll send Brody to you. At the very least, he can do something about that swelling, if it gets any worse you won’t be ‘wickedly sexy’, though I can’t say I see it myself. You will need to come down again, even if it’s just for a few minutes,” he added.

“I know. Thanks, Fergus.”


	152. Where is She?!

Alistair stayed in the stable’s shadows while his friend said goodbye. William was happier than when he arrived despite his and his father’s matching black eyes. _“Andraste help me, I’m not ready for my children to grow up or to have ‘the talk’ with them.”_ He was thinking about later in the afternoon of the party. The Professor and one of the servants helping with the children’s party came downstairs with William and Janice Lynette. They tried to be discreet but Sera saw them.

_“Ooh, somebody got clobbered right enough.”_

_The two children shuffled their feet and looked down at the ground when Anora, Blake, Alistair, Teagan, and Jannasilane hurried towards them. “William, are you alright?” Anora was horrified to see her son’s bruised face._

_“What happened?” Blake demanded, though he suspected Eamon’s daughter was involved._

_“Stonefist, I believe,” the Professor frowned at his pupil. “I apologize that I was unable to prevent this unfortunate contretemps.”_

_“You are just so cute, using words bigger than you are. I really am going to stick you in my bosom one day and take you below decks,” Isabela teased. The Professor blushed and began wringing his hands and stammering incoherently._

_Dorian joined them, “Stonefist?” He examined William’s eye, “Either the boy got lucky or your young mage here has remarkable control. There’s no more damage than if another boy his age hit him with his fist.”_

_“That’s not the point,” Alistair muttered. As Janice Lynette’s godfather and guardian in her father’s absence, it was up to him and Janna to deal with whatever this was. Janna watched J-Lynn while Alistair got down on his knee so she could look him in the eye. “J-Lynn, look at me and tell me what happened,” he said sternly. “You know you’re not supposed to use your magic to harm anyone.”_

_Janice looked up then, “You said I could use it in s-self-defense! He’s bigger and stronger than I am.”_

_“You mean William attacked you?” Jannasilane asked her in disbelief._

_“I didn’t! I never would,” the young prince protested at the same time._

_Janice Lynette puffed up in outrage and glared at him, “Eeuw, you kissed me. You grabbed my arm and you_ kissed _me.” Teagan, Isabela, Dorian, and now Zevran were standing behind the Professor and the children and didn’t bother hiding their grins. Alistair covered his face, Janna bit her lip, Blake looked up to the sky and Anora blinked._

_“I can show you what’ll bring any man three times your size to his knees and you don’t need stupid magic to do it,” Sera offered with a grin. Every man in hearing distance understood her meaning and shifted uncomfortably. Some of the women smirked at their unease. William looked at her suspiciously._

_Anora cleared her throat, “Yes, thank you for your offer but I think right now the best course of action is for the parties involved and their guardians to find a place to discuss this privately.”_

_“I agree,” Janna replied soberly, or as soberly as she could after hearing ‘eeuw.’ “Professor, Midge, thank you for assistance. I would appreciate it if you made sure Martelle and the other children aren’t upset.” The Professor eagerly fled the presence of the Rivaini pirate. Midge curtsied to their Majesties and followed him._

_Once they settled in a small library, the adults were quiet and the two children squirmed. “Son,” Blake spoke first, “did you kiss this young lady without her consent?”_

_William didn’t take his eyes off the floor. When he didn’t answer Anora frowned, “William, your father asked you a question. I suggest you answer him. Did you ask Janice Lynette if you could kiss her?”_

_“No,” he muttered and then burst out, “they said I didn’t have to! That I’m a prince and that means I can do whatever I want, kiss whoever I want!” They’d actually used another word instead of kiss but William didn’t think his parents would approve and he had a feeling he was in enough trouble._

_“They were wrong,” Blake said firmly, arms crossed._

_The boy sneaked a peak at him and gaped at his father. Then he blinked, “Father, what happened to **you**?”_

_“Ah,” Blake touched the side of his face. “I was even ruder to a lady and deserved the retaliation.”_

“What has put that bemused expression on your face, oh handsome templar?” Zevran joined him.

Alistair glanced sideways and answered with one word, “Eeuw.”

Zevran chuckled, “Ah, yes. Young Mistress Guerrin is a clever young woman, and much feistier than her demeanor suggests. I think her future husband will appreciate the passion behind the politeness. Indeed, I think he already does. Martelle is the same age, is she not?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Alistair muttered. “What do you mean, ‘already does?’ You mean William . . .” he shook his head. “Nope not thinking about it, at all,” he shook his head for emphasis.

“You Fereldans,” the Antivan tsked, “If she weren’t a mage it would be a very good match and now that the world is changing, it still could be one. A clever parent would already be sowing seeds towards later acceptance. However, we do not need to concern ourselves with such.” He took mercy on his friend and changed the subject, “As a rule, Fereldan parties are rather tame affairs; they have none of the elaborate intricacy of Orlais or the dramatic flair of my native Antiva. Here at the Vigil, you break tradition every time.”

“Happy to oblige,” the warrior dryly responded.

Zevran bowed, “It is a good thing the Inquisitor left for Kirkwall when she did, taking the salty Sera with her. Our smelly dwarven friend is still vowing bodily harm. His good lady is also unhappy with the prankster.” Alistair couldn’t help grinning.

_“WHERE IS SHE?! WHERE IS THAT NUG-HUMPING, DEW-LICKING, SCRAWNY-ASSED EXCUSE FOR AN ELF? I’M GOING TO TURN HER INTO LITTLE PIECES EVEN A SODDING DEEPSTALKER WOULDN’T SEE AND THEN I’M GONNA GET_ **NASTY** _!” Oghren burst into the ballroom, swinging his giant battleaxe over his head. He should have looked ridiculous, clad only in his small clothes and one braid of his beard undone, the three parts jutting out from his chin like arrows. Instead, he looked dangerous. His face was red with anger and his eyes reflected the berserker within. “There ya are, no hiding behind the Inquisitor’s skirts, come out and face your punishment,” he stalked towards Sera. Sera laughed and leapt away._

_Bragaara frowned in her lover’s direction, “Sera, what did you do?” She kept a wary eye on the dwarf._

_“What did SHE DO? Just look at my beard, woman!” the irate dwarf roared. “Felsi gave me some, whatyacallit, pomade. Said it would make my beard shine. I was saving it for a special occasion and this seemed like a good time to use it. Thought it would give me bonus points,” he waggled his chin in what would normally be a leer. “And now look at it!” he roared and ran towards the elf._

_“It’s only a beard, yeah,” Sera rolled her eyes and leapt away again. “So, cut it off and grow another one.” The entire room fell silent at her words._

_“Oh, Sera lass, you know I love you but,” Rainier shook his head._

_Varric sighed, “Buttercup, I grew up on the surface and I prefer not to disguise my manly features with a lot of facial hair. I may not be an expert on all things dwarven, but I know enough not to mess with a berserker’s beard.”_

_“Even I’m not so daft,” Merrill added._

_“Pffftt, it’s just a prank,” Sera frowned, but she was beginning to look less sure of herself._

_“Sera, this is an example of what I’ve been telling you for months, you need to know your target,” Iron Bull said calmly._

_Sigrun pointed her knife at the elf, “Duster, in Orzammar you’d already be dead and your body thrown into a pit of lava. You just made a declaration of war. I rarely agree with Oghren, but I’m not going to get in his way on this.”_

_Alistair stepped in. “Sera, since you switched out the pomade, is it too much to hope you have something that will fix, it, that,” he rubbed his brow in an effort to alleviate the tension forming behind his eyes. He hadn’t meant to really give her permission, though Oghren probably wouldn’t see it that way._

_“Um, well, yeah, I don’t usually UNdo a prank,” she admitted._

_“Of course not. Ok, Oghren, you can’t kill her, during the party anyway,” he quickly added when Sera started to look smug. “Why don’t you go back to your room and I’ll bring some Rockbinder’s I have stashed away. If it can remove spider guts there’s a good chance it’ll do something for your beard.”_

_“Rockbinder’s huh? You and Cherryplum looking for some special alone time?” the redheaded warrior peered sideways up at his Commander._

_“I hope it does not involve singing,” Zevran remarked sourly._

_“My singing is not that bad,” Alistair protested._

_General Lee whined, Blake and Zevran looked at each other and snickered. Blake rolled his eyes, “Alistair, if you’d been in the public taproom instead of our private quarters we would have been kicked out of Orzammar and banned forever.”_

_“Perhaps not, Warden, they might have been too busy admiring his magnificent, and bare, backside,” Zevran purred._

_Alistair huffed and hurried Oghren out of the ballroom._

“Nobody died, so it was still tame by Crow standards,” Alistair drawled.

Zevran laughed, “‘Tis true, though incomplete might be a better description than tame. Thank you for not killing my Warden. I plan to force him to use your private sparring chamber every day until we leave. With a healer present and a couple of trusted friends to prevent him from killing himself or another, he may be able to release enough aggression so that he can function the rest of the day without hiding. I suspect, however, that you have an ulterior motive behind your offer to spar with him.” When he just got a bland smile in reply, he continued, “Quite clever of young Brody to suggest consulting Avernus in Soldier’s Peak. I marvel that he is still alive.”

“So do I,” the Arl-Commander muttered. “This came for me today,” he handed the message to the astute Antivan.

Zevran raised an eyebrow and read the brief invitation.

_“Alistair,_

_A young person who shares your unfathomable love of cheese wishes to meet you. He met one of your Wardens, Stroud, a few months ago. We will be in the City of Amaranthine for one week; this should give you plenty of opportunity to get away, if you choose._

_M._

_P.S. If you arrive with a squad of your Wardens, this meeting will not take place.”_

“You think this is a trap or do you believe it is really the beautiful and temperamental Morrigan?” Zevran questioned. He watched his friend carefully.

“Jean-Marc met Morrigan and her son, Kieran, at Skyhold. It seems he has a keen interest in the Hero of Ferelden and likes cheese, though I’m not sure how Stroud figured that out. No, I’m positive it’s Morrigan. I suppose it doesn’t completely rule out a trap, but it’s not likely. My Janna thinks Morrigan is giving me the opportunity to meet my son, rather for her son to meet his father.”

“The Pocket Goddess is most likely correct, so why are you telling me?”

“I don’t think Morrigan plans to meet in the City at all, she doesn’t say _where_ in Amaranthine. She’s kept my relationship to Kieran secret all this time, she isn’t going to change that now, not without a very good reason and I can’t think of one. No, I think she’ll stop us somewhere on the road so this meeting can be completely private.” Alistair frowned, “Janna isn’t worried, and she insists on coming with Kat. She thinks he should meet at least one of his brothers and sisters and Kat isn’t likely to tell anybody.” Zevran flashed a quick grin at the suggestion. “No,” Alistair continued, “I don’t think Morrigan would care about bringing some of my men to the City with us as long as they didn’t come to the meeting. I’m not comfortable going with only my Janna and the baby. Just because Morrigan isn’t setting a trap doesn’t mean there aren’t other troublemakers on the road, which is why I’m asking you and Blake to come with us. She knows you and the two of you are as good as a squad, or at least you used to be,” he smirked.

“Oho, ask for our assistance and then insult our abilities, perhaps you should be punished,” Zevran mocked.

To his surprise, the former templar shrugged his shoulders, “I also thought Morrigan might know something to help our cranky friend.”

“She did grow up with Flemeth, or should I call her Mythal? Truly, that is one of the more bizarre surprises to come from this messy Breach business. Healing was not one of our Morrigan’s strong suits, but perhaps she knows something that will help us before we go see the ancient Avernus at Soldier’s Peak.” Zevran sighed, “When he described how he felt, I was reminded of the Pocket Goddess when we found her in Denerim.”

“Yeah, me too. I was surprised how much the Inquisitor liked the gazebo and Janna’s garden.”

Alistair’s change of subject didn’t surprise Zevran. He didn’t like to think of his Pocket Goddess in such a crisis, either. He smiled, “As did Her Magnificent Majesty. It is not the most elaborate or even beautiful of gardens, but with the arbor and gazebo, it is a pocket of charm and calm. I can quite see how two of the most powerful women in Thedas would appreciate the small oasis of peace.”

“Makes sense,” the big blond agreed. “Teagan is leaving tomorrow, so we can go the day after. That gives us time in case we miss her the first time.” So it was.


	153. After All This Time, It’s Really You

“Does Alistair appreciate how nicely the bumps in the road make your beautiful breasts jiggle when you drive over them?” Zevran asked. He was riding beside her in the chariot. After some discussion, they all agreed that, as the smallest of the men, he would be able to move more freely in the event of an attack, improbable as it was. Alistair rode in front and Blake to the side or rear.

Jannasilane peered sideways at him and then blushed remembering one particular ride. She moved her gaze forward and vainly hoped the elf wouldn’t notice or comment. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching out for trouble?”

“I trained myself long ago to flirt and be aware at the same time. As your friend, I would be remiss if I did not point out the intriguing possibilities of your chariot but your blush tells me you know this already,” the Antivan teased, causing her to blush even more.

“I see somebody up ahead, near Stroud’s Grove,” Alistair pulled back so he was riding next to the Cherryplum Chariot. “I think, I think it’s Morrigan. Kieran must be in the trees,” he clumsily dismounted and looked at Jannasilane in a mild panic. “What if she changed her mind? Or worse, what if he did? What if he doesn’t like me?”

“He’s not alone, Mother,” Kieran’s shoulders drooped in disappointment where he stood in the shadows. “I thought you told him to come alone.”

Morrigan corrected him, “I told him not to bring a squad of his soldiers. He did not. I suspected she would come; the other two I did not expect but I recognize them, the Warden and the elf.” Mother and son watched the warrior speak to his wife and the tenderness of her quick caress against his cheek. He helped her down and then reached under the seat of the wheeled contraption and pulled out a basket, which he handed to her, and then some packages. He brushed his hand lightly over her hair and then began walking towards them. _“Still so much touching, even after all these years,”_ she thought with amusement and a greater degree of tolerance.

“Hullo, Morrigan,” Alistair greeted her without any enthusiasm. She merely raised one elegant eyebrow. “Where’s . . . I thought,” Alistair looked around and noticed Kieran in the shadows, “ah, you’re here, I thought maybe you changed your mind,” he said tentatively.

“Did you think we wouldn’t keep our word?” Morrigan answered imperiously, “That I have nothing better to do with my time?”

“You never know with you sneaky, witch-thieves,” he retorted, relieved he was wrong.

Kieran was confused. Instead of being angry, his mother looked amused. He looked up at the huge, really huge warrior staring at him, “I thought maybe _you_ would,” he admitted.

Alistair grinned, a wide, lop-sided grin that Kieran couldn’t help answering, “Well that makes three things we have in common. Uncertainty, cheese, and cinnamon buns. Here, these are some of my favorites that travel well,” he handed the smaller of two packages to his son, “And this one has some of my other favorites as well as the best cinnamon buns in Thedas. If your mother,” he reduced his voice to a loud stage whisper, “is nice to me, we’ll share with her.”

“I knew I wouldn’t have to tell him you were a fool,” she responded dryly.

Alistair looked at Kieran and shook his head sadly, “Now, that wasn’t very nice, was it? Looks like it’s just us men. Do you prefer soft or hard cheese? Do you have lots of questions? I know I do. I’m babbling. I know I’m babbling; I do that when I get nervous.”

“Relax, my Ali,” Janna caught up to them. “Kieran, yes? I’m Jannasilane. I am most happy to meet you, this is truth.” She tilted her head sideways for a moment, and then she smiled. “My Ali has been eager for this day for a very long time. There is a nice mossy area under the trees where you can sit and talk. You must have many questions for him,” she urged.

Alistair brushed his knuckles against her cheek, “Thanks, my love.” He was a great deal calmer when he spoke to Kieran again, “One day, I hope you’re as lucky as I am. Why don’t we start with something simple . . . what’s your favorite color?” Their voices faded as the moved into the trees.

“He hasn’t changed much,” the golden-eyed mage remarked.

Jannasilane made herself comfortable under a tree. She peered into the basket where Kiera-Anne was still sleeping. Satisfied, she looked up at Morrigan, “He never thought this day would come.” She waited for the other woman to sit down. “When my Jean-Marc told us he met you and Kieran at Skyhold . . . thank you, Morrigan, for bringing him here.”

“The last time we saw each other, I had no understanding what I was really asking of him, or you. I won’t say I wouldn’t have made the same decision.”

Jannasilane started to say something but Blake and Zevran joined them, “We have thoroughly searched the area and you will be pleased to know we are all perfectly safe – except perhaps, from each other,” Zevran smirked and bowed. They heard laughter from both man and boy deeper in the trees. “It is good to know this meeting goes well. It is a great weight from the handsome and broad shoulders of our favorite templar.”

Morrigan sniffed, “ _Your_ favorite, perhaps.”

“What happened to Urthemiel?” Jannasilane finally asked. Morrigan, Blake, and Zevran all looked at her.

“The education you received from your mother is impressive, except in this one area. How can you possibly like stinky Orlesian cheese that tastes of despair, no that’s ham, tastes of misery?” Alistair shook his head in mock disappointment. So far, their meeting had gone even better than he expected. “I like some . . . properly aromatic cheeses,” he said loftily, “but none of _them_ taste remotely like _misery_.” He rolled his eyes.

“Mother says it’s an acquired taste that she has no desire to acquire,” Kieran laughed. This man, the Hero, _“he is my father,”_ he reminded himself, was so easy to talk to.

“You know,” Alistair said after a moment, “after all this time, it’s still hard to believe it’s really you, that you’re really here.” He stared at his son, memorizing every detail, “I wondered what you were doing, I worried, and . . . you know I’m a templar, right? Rather, I was?” Kieran nodded, a slight frown creasing his forehead. His father continued, “I still have the abilities of one, though not as many if I had gone past trainee, so . . . I know Urthemiel isn’t with you anymore.”

Kieran stared at him, his eyes wide in astonishment, “M-mother said I shouldn’t t-talk about it.”

His father nodded, “I’ll ask her what happened, then. I’m not going to try and put you at odds with Morrigan. But, how do you feel about him, it being gone? If you think you can talk about that part,” he added. Alistair watched his son relax, and knew he was right not to push the boy for answers.

“Well,” Kieran stared into the trees as if trying to find the words, “he was always there with me. I was never alone. When I was younger, he’d sometimes tell me stories, sing, or just hum. Sometimes Mother had to leave, but since he was with me, I never felt abandoned. Not that she ever left me alone, not when I was little,” he quickly added, “but the only people I could really talk to were her and Urthemiel.” He looked at his father to see how he was reacting. He was relieved to see him nodding, accepting and waiting, not frowning or upset. “Later, he helped teach me magic. Now that he’s gone, there’s, I don’t know how to explain it, I told Mother I felt lonely, but that’s not exactly,” he shrugged.

“Maybe it’s like having a twin. One of my men lost his twin when the darkspawn swarmed out of Ostagar. He said they always knew what the other was thinking even when they were apart. He said he never felt alone or lonely until she died and her absence was like a physical space in his head, that he felt a part of him was missing.”

“Kind of,” Kieran considered. He felt less strange learning that other people might feel something similar.

“Kieran,” Kieran looked up at his father, “Kieran, you have a family. Maybe knowing there are other people who care about you will make you feel less lonely. You will always be my child. Stroud wrote that you were a boy any man would be proud to call son and he was right. Remember that.”

The boy blinked, “Father, can I ask you a question?” Alistair beamed at the word ‘Father.’

“Of course.”

“Why did you do it? I know why Mother did, and why she thought you did it, but that’s not the same thing.”

“It? You mean the ritual? Of course you mean the ritual,” the warrior sighed and ran his hand over his hair. “That’s . . . a fair question, especially since you’re the result. Did you know Ferelden was fighting a civil war while we were building an army to fight the Blight?” Kieran nodded. “Okay, then, at the Landsmeet where Loghain’s usurpation, if that’s even a word, ended, Blake and Anora agreed to marry. This meant peace between those who supported her, those who opposed her father, and those who supported the Grey Wardens. Blake’s family, the Couslands, was the highest ranking family outside the royal bloodline and possibly even more respected.”

“Mother said you could have been king,” Kieran interjected.

Alistair was silent for several moments before he answered, “I _never_ wanted to be king. Maybe I would have been good at it, I think now I might have been, but I would have had to learn how. You see, Blake grew up with the knowledge, he wasn’t the heir, that was his brother Fergus, but he was expected to lead men, deal with politics, be a good second to his brother, all that. I may have been Maric’s son but I grew up without any family, I even lived in the stables before I went to the Chantry, kicking and screaming all the way. I was never taught any leadership skills, indeed I was often told I would never be more than what I was, a nobody. Until Duncan, the Warden-Commander before me,” he paused for a moment, remembering, “until Duncan recruited me no one ever entrusted me with anything more than washing a lot of dishes. I was in trouble a lot,” he explained with a slight smile.

“I learned a great deal watching Blake. He was our leader even though he was the junior Warden, something your mother pointed out once. Thing is, he knew so much more than I did it would have been, if not a disaster, then very bad if I lead us. I couldn’t talk without putting my foot in my mouth, not a good thing when you’re trying to convince people to help you. Anyway, back to the Landsmeet; by then I was confident enough to act as Blake’s second as far as anything related to battle, I knew more about politics and dealing with people, but I didn’t have anywhere near the abilities of Blake or Anora. Ferelden didn’t need a king who had to learn what to do; it needed leaders who could take control immediately.”

“I know you asked about the ritual, but the results of the Landsmeet are important if you want to understand why I did . . . it.” He frowned then, and flushed, “You know, this is harder to talk about than I thought. Anyway,” he huffed, “when we got to Redcliffe there were only three of us, Grey Wardens I mean, who had to survive long enough to reach and kill the Archdemon. Our job wasn’t going to be over when Archie died, somebody had to rebuild the order afterwards and deal with the remaining darkspawn. One of us was supposed to go back to Orlais, one of us was going to be king, and that left only one of us to take care of after. So I thought. Blake and I didn’t know until Redcliffe that whoever killed the Archdemon was going to die _no matter what_.”

Kieran was trying to understand what that must have been like, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to interrupt anything his father might say. “Well,” Alistair cleared his throat, “every soldier understands that he risks life and limb. I was proud to be a Grey Warden, even though it’s not an easy life, because I can’t think of anything more worthy or honorable than protecting people. I know, that sounds corny, but there you go.” He scratched the back of his head, “We had hope, maybe you’re too young to realize how important hope is. Then Riordan told us if we did our duty, we had no future. Then Mor- your mother told us she had a way out, ‘a loop to our hole’ is how I think she put it.”

“Of course, that meant fathering a child, you, who we would never see. I always wanted a family of my own, but I kind of thought I’d be there with them. It wasn’t a simple decision, I mean, how could we know it would work or that we just weren’t kicking the Archdemon problem down the road? Bringing an old god, even an untainted one, back? I’m still not sure it was a good idea. I,” Alistair shook his head and blinked repeatedly, “I am several kinds of an idiot. I’m blathering on and on about history while you sit there politely waiting for the answer to your real question. You want to know if I regret _you._ I’m sitting here, looking at you, talking to you . . . you’re healthy, intelligent, more polite than I ever was . . . I can’t regret anything I did that resulted in you,” he finished hoarsely. He gave in to temptation and pulled Kieran into a hug. He kissed the top of his head, just as he did to his other children, “No. I don’t have any regrets. Whatever misgivings and doubts I had are gone. You’re my son. I am a lucky man.”

“You are going to smother him, my Ali,” Jannasilane and Zevran joined them from the shadows where they’d been waiting. Alistair reluctantly let go of Kieran, who settled back with a pleased and shy grin.

“I don’t mind,” he admitted, “it’s, it’s rather nice.”

“Good, because he’s huggy with all our children,” she smiled at him. “I thought you’d like to meet one of your sisters, Kiera-Anne. Kat, meet your oldest brother, Kieran. You can hold her if you wish,” Jannasilane offered.

“I’ve never held a baby before,” Kieran noted uncertainly.

“I was nervous the first time, too. She’s a lot bigger now, so it’ll be easier,” Alistair reassured him and helped him get comfortable.

Zevran laughed at Kieran’s look of disbelief, “You doubt this but it is true. Once you were just as small as Miss Kiera-Anne. Hmm, I do believe she likes you, if her grip on your finger is any indication.”

“You hear that, Mother? My sister likes me,” his eyes sparkled.

Morrigan smiled at her son, “Ah, a most intelligent and discerning creature; she obviously takes after her mother.” She expected Alistair to protest but once again, the templar did the unexpected. He simply rose, approached, picked her up and began spinning around with her in his arms. “Put me down, fool, lest I turn you into the toad as you deserve,” she shouted.

He did, but not before giving her a great big, smacking kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Morrigan, really, thank you,” he hugged her quickly and let her go.

“For what are you thanking me, fool templar?” Morrigan arrogantly replied.

“Thank you for being such a good mother and letting me see my son,” he spoke quietly and earnestly.

“I did not do so for your sake, I assure you, but . . . you are welcome.”

The big warrior grinned, “I’m also grateful he doesn’t have two heads and lots of wavy tentacles.” He winked at his son.

 “Oh?” Morrigan’s lip curled disdainfully, “Did you really believe _that_ was a possibility?”

He shrugged. “A sneaky, witch-thief who’s the daughter of Flemeth, or Mythal, a Witch of the Wilds, an Archdemon, an old God . . . you never know,” he drawled. A twinkle in his eye belied the seriousness of his answer.

“Your father likes to live dangerously,” Zevran said quietly, “it was often thus during our travels together.”

“ _I_ marvel that the toy puts up with you.”

“Morrigan,” Jannasilane chimed in, “we’ve talked about this before.” The two women exchanged a look and secretive smiles.

“’Tis true, we have,” they turned their gazes to the warrior.

Alistair’s eyes widened, “Kieran, I’m about to give you some fatherly advice, when two or more women get _that_ look, and then turn it on you, you’re in trouble.” He held out his hands in a placating manner.

Blake grinned, “One thing I don’t miss is the headache the two of you gave me with your almost constant bickering.” Now that Morrigan agreed to analyze the potion and search her vastly expanded repertoire, he had hopes that between her and Avernus he would either be cured or at least get better. He missed being with his son, Zevran, and Anora but until he was sure he could control the angry hatred that would boil up without warning he didn’t dare spend too much time with them. _“At least the sparring sessions are helping. Alistair enjoys himself a little too much, I fear, after my conduct against Package. I don’t blame him; it scares me how close I came to . . . well, I hope both of us can get past this soon.”_

“Morrigan,” Alistair spoke quietly so their son wouldn’t hear, “we need to talk.”

She answered just as quietly, “Yes, I suppose we do.”

While his love and his friends kept Kieran occupied, the templar and the witch stepped away. He spoke first, as she knew he would, “I know Urthemiel is gone. Morrigan, I, I want to get to know him, Kieran I mean, better. Andraste’s breath, nothing would make me happier than to have him living at Vigil’s Keep.” He rubbed the side of his nose nervously, “You’d be welcome, too, of course. I have no intention of trying to come between you; you are obviously a terrific mother, much better than I think either of us expected.” She hummed, what he said was true but she didn’t interrupt. “Thing is, if you don’t think it’s safe then I’ll abide by your decision.”

“I can _not_ imagine a scenario in which I would ever consent to living virtually under your rule,” Morrigan answered tartly. He grinned. She answered with a mocking smile, “Now that Urthemiel is with Flemeth, I don’t think Kieran has much to fear from her. Ironically, I find myself somewhat bound to her, or rather, to Mythal, and that is something to which I am still growing accustomed.  However, I want to be perfectly clear, are you saying you want to acknowledge him openly? You do realize that might arouse some awkward questions. And what about your other children?”

Alistair shrugged, “My children know I love them and I think they would welcome another brother, though Martypants might be a bit disgruntled to lose her position as the oldest. She’s sometimes a bit bossy. I’m not worried about any questions from them, the Bannorn, or anyone else. No, my . . . Morrigan, did you know the Fereldan Grey Wardens no longer answer to Weisshaupt?”

“I heard something of the kind and I must say it surprised me. In fact, you have proven to be much more unconventional than I imagined when I traveled with you,” she was curious now.

“Yeah, well,” he crossed his arms, “the First wasn’t too happy that I didn’t agree to go to Weisshaupt fortress to answer his questions about my survival. Rebuilding Amaranthine from the ravages of a darkspawn civil war while trying to reestablish the order in Ferelden were apparently not good enough excuses,” he scowled at the memories, “he kidnapped me, his agent killed Riordan, among other things, and tried to kidnap my Janna when I wasn’t cooperative as his guest.”

Morrigan was startled, “I am sorry, Alistair, I had no idea the Wardens would act so strongly against one of their own, especially one of only three who ended the Blight. Believe me, I would have warned you . . . that is to say . . . I hope I would have said something, but I admit I might have deliberately avoided the subject if it had occurred to me. For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry you and those with you suffered because of that night.”

“None of us suspected the First was just this side of bonkers,” he answered gruffly, pleased and surprised by her apology. “Thing is, just because Urthemiel is gone, I’m not sure some of the other Wardens, especially those closer to the last First, might not come after Kieran looking for answers. Most of them aren’t stupid, if I suddenly have a son who was born 9 months after killing the Archdemon, and they realize he’s also your son . . . well I can’t imagine somebody won’t figure there’s something odd. Just because he’s no longer home to an old god doesn’t mean they might not try something. It probably isn’t a big possibility, but you should know.”

“I see,” she frowned. She grimly stared up at the warrior, “I **will** not risk him. Perhaps it is best that, for now, we keep our secret. This does not have to mean you will never see us again,” she rolled her eyes at his look of relief. “You are traveling to Soldier’s Peak soon with the Warden and that elf, I see no reason we cannot accompany you. You and Kieran will have more time together, and I can speak with Avernus about the Warden’s condition. I assume that will satisfy you for the moment?”

“You old softie,” he teased. “I take it back, you’re as hard and mean and cold as ever,” he added when she raised her staff. It wasn’t the last time he saw his oldest son, though future visits were rare and usually took place at either Soldier’s Peak or Flemeth’s old hut until they decided it was safe to introduce Kieran to his family. There was some gossip, but since neither Morrigan, Jannasilane, nor any of the children seemed upset, it died down quickly enough. Especially since the more exotic details remained secret.


	154. Rainier's Return or What Happened at the 'Peace' Conclave

Alistair and Thom Rainier reached Denerim within a day of each other.   _“I probably should go to my office at the Warden compound first,”_ the Arl-Commander considered the idea for all of two seconds. _“It’s late afternoon, I can take care of business tomorrow. It’s not as if anything new is going on at Ostagar, and I’m certainly not going to tell anybody but my Janna about meeting with Kieran and Morrigan. I’d much rather go home,”_ he flagged one of the many errand boys in the marketplace and sent a message. _“There, if anything can’t wait then Dani knows where to reach me.”_ He picked up some candied nuts for Janna and went home.

“Glad to see you back, Arl-Commander,” Markel opened the door before he could reach it. “The Arlessa and the children are with Bann Shianni. She invited them to celebrate the ten-year anniversary of Bann Vhenadahl Mana Sahlin Mahvir[1], said they should show they could deal with the stupid shem so it might as well be someone who’d done something _for_ the elves. I was just leaving to escort them home.”

“It’s been more than ten years since the alienage became a Bannorn,” Alistair raised an eyebrow.

Officer Markel grinned, “Yes, but they’re celebrating the _naming_ of the Bannorn, not the formation. Bann Shianni asked the little Arlessa to give a speech.”

“Dare you to call her that to her face,” Alistair replied.

“I’m not a fool, ser,” the former guardsman retorted before he left. A smirking Arl went inside to bathe before his family came home.

When Warden Rainier entered the same gates the next day, his mood was much more somber. _“I don’t look forward to telling the Commander about Solas, Fen’Harel, or whatever the ruddy bugger calls himself.”_ He looked around the marketplace, people gossiping, children hanging onto their mother’s skirts or playing in the streets, _“It boggles the mind, to think he wants all this destroyed. He’s as much a monster as Corypheus or any Archdemon.”_

Alistair looked up from his paperwork when Rainier knocked on his door, “My Weapons Master has returned. How did it go?” The genial smile faded from his face as he took in Rainier’s expression, “That bad, huh? Well, shut the door and tell me what’s going on.” He listened carefully and shook his head, “They should have called this the Doomsday Age, not the Dragon Age. You know, for once I’m not hungry.” He scowled, thinking, “I know Teagan was at the Conclave and will inform Their Majesties when he returns, but does he even know about all this old elf stuff?”

“Probably not everything,” Thom Rainier unhappily shrugged his shoulders, “the Inquisitor wasn’t exactly thrilled with either the Fereldan or the Orlesian delegations.” He watched the Warden-Commander drumming his fingers on his desk.

“You know, Janna didn’t like Solas, says he reminded her of Flemeth. Now I know why,” he frowned. “Janna and I are meeting Zev for dinner at the Gnawed Noble; nobody will think it strange if you come as our guest. Yep, that’ll work. And you’ve got plenty of time to relax and primp and make yourself pretty.”

“Right, because I always spend a great deal of time in front of a mirror,” Rainier muttered and shook his head.

The moment Zevran saw the bearded Warden he knew he’d be inviting them back to the castle. He smiled jovially, “It is nice to have an evening with friends, especially when one is the beautiful Pocket Goddess with the magnificent bosom.” He bowed low and kissed her hand. Alistair rolled his eyes and Rainier thought for the hundredth time how much Zevran reminded him of the even more flamboyant Dorian. Zevran turned to him, “And tonight you bring with you the great bearded Warden. Marvelous, we shall dine well and then adjourn to my quarters to sample some brandy recently arrived from my homeland of Antiva.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get me drunk and make a fool of myself?” Alistair played along.

“You, my friend, are a most entertaining and delightful drunk, as long as you don’t sing,” the assassin responded.

“I keep telling you, my singing is not that bad!”

“Only if you don’t have ears,” Zevran covered his and pretended to shudder.

By tacit agreement, they exchanged gossip and told stories. Rainier was happy to relate some of the funnier moments from his time with the Inquisition, including one game of Wicked Grace that ended with Cullen racing through the castle and grounds trying to reach his rooms before too many people realized he was as naked as the day he was born. “It was a damned cold night, too,” he chuckled.

“I am sure he was a most delightful sight to any fortunate enough to be present. He should have listened to our dwarven friend and never bet against an Antivan,” Zevran shook his head at such foolishness. The merry group entered the castle and proceeded to a small parlor near the family quarters, going through a variety of checkpoints. “Make yourselves comfortable and I shall return in moments. I will not object if any of you decide to get naked,” he teased and vanished.

Zevran returned with a bottle of fine brandy as well as Blake and Anora. “Rainier, right?” Blake smiled and studied the older man with shrewd eyes. He wondered if Alistair realized how much the man looked like Duncan, at least with the beard. “We didn’t have much opportunity to talk at the Vigil. Zevran says you were at the Peace Conclave with the Inquisitor. Teagan sent a message that there was an incident involving the Qunari, but I’m guessing there was a great deal more.”

“Yes, even if Teagan tells us much the same, it will be from a more political perspective. Relax, Warden, why don’t you begin with your arrival. Did you get to the Winter Palace before or after the Inquisitor?”

“Not long before, Your Majesty. I’m a practical man, but from the outside, the Winter Palace is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. I daresay it is inside as well, but I wasn’t paying much attention before; we were too busy looking for Corypheus’ assassins and I’m not much of a mingler. I wandered the grounds, admired the views of the countryside, caught up with some of the others who were already there, and found a quiet spot to myself. I’ve been practicing throwing knives, but I’m not very good yet . . . didn’t want to accidentally scratch some poncy – excuse me Your Majesty, I forgot who I was talking to,” Rainier reddened and bowed to Anora.

Anora smiled graciously, “Just be yourself, Warden Rainier. I admit I’ve thought the same on occasion. There must have been a number of people, wherever there is a meeting of importance there is also going to be an influx of courtiers, spies, and the simply curious. I’m glad you found somewhere to relax.”

“Didn’t realize it at the time, but I quickly realized I could hear a lot of any conversations taking place on the other side of the wall and from people passing the shop I was behind. Mostly Orlesians, the lot from Ferelden kept mostly to itself and the Orlesians knew it. They, different people, made numerous remarks and none of them favorable. Didn’t like the hats either,” he scratched his beard. He was trying to paint as complete a picture as he could, and if he included more details than he needed, it was far better than not including something that might be important later. “The majority opinion seemed to be the Inquisitor should be folded in with the Orlesian army, as it was vastly more experienced. It certainly wasn’t a universal opinion, others seemed to lean towards the Fereldan position and some seemed to think it was doing just fine. She saved the bloody world and now they’re doubting her!”

“Tell me about it,” Alistair muttered and Blake rolled his eyes in agreement.

“It seems that one thing both Orlais and Ferelden can agree upon is that neither nation likes a large army on their doorstep,” Anora mused. “We simply have different views on what constitutes an acceptable outcome.”

“Perhaps,” Rainier grudgingly conceded, “seems like the Inquisitor was being questioned for hardly a minute before somebody found the Qunari corpse. She followed the blood trail to an Eluvian in the library, and then we gathered weapons and armor and went through. Those elven mirrors may be convenient, but they make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.” The grizzled warrior grimaced at the reminder. “The first mirror we saw had another dead Qunari soldier in front of it, but it didn’t seem to be working so we followed steps to what looked like an old library and another mirror. I don’t know where that fortress was, but it was old, it was nowhere near the Winter Palace, and we saw fighting between the Qunari and old elves, or their ghosts. What we discovered . . .” he talked for a long time. He described the murals and their depiction of a very different history. He told them about the Qunari lyrium mining operation in the Deep Roads and the conspiracy to kill all the leaders in southern Thedas prior to invasion and ultimate conversion to the Qun.

“We finally caught up to the Viddasala in what was left of the ancient Arlathan library,” Rainier quaffed half his ale, his throat parched after so much unaccustomed talking. “She accused the Inquisitor of working for an agent of Fen’Harel and ranting about the evils of magic. The bloody bitch wanted to destroy the Fade and if the price was the end of the world, then so be it! I’m a plain man and I admit I’m not always comfortable around magic. It’s a lot of power for one person to have, and too often people abuse power when they have it. However, I’m not about to kill everything and everyone in an effort to get rid of magic. That’s madness, is what it is. She sicced her soldiers on us and disappeared through another damned mirror, one we couldn’t reach. A spirit told us where we would find her and how to get there.”

He stared into his mug, “Never thought I’d feel sorry for a dragon but the way they imprisoned that high dragon so they could milk it for its venom . . . yet Viddasala claimed to respect life.”

“Zealots will always find a way to twist principles to support their particular vision,” Zevran sneered.

“Aye,” Rainier agreed. “We freed the dragon. I nearly laughed when it killed some of the Qunari on its way out. We followed Viddasala but stopped when Inquisitor Adaar fell to the ground clutching her hand. Until the Conclave, she hadn’t admitted to any of us, even Sera, that the mark was causing her more and more pain. I think I saw pity on the Viddasala’s face; she knew what none of us did, the mark was killing Lady Adaar. She told us the agent she sought was Solas, he’d been working for Fen’Harel all along but soon he’d be dead and the Inquisitor avenged. Guess we now knew why he left after Corypheus’ defeat. I’ll tell you one thing, Commander; it will be a relief fighting darkspawn again, instead of Qunari.”

“Solas wasn’t Fen’Harel’s agent, the Viddasala was wrong about that, he _is_ Fen’Harel,” he concluded. “The Inquisitor told us everything he told her before he cut off her arm. It was the only way to save her life, you see.” The room was silent as every person tried to make sense of everything Rainier reported.

“Braska!” Zevran snarled, his hand slicing the air in front of him. “This whole Breach business was because two grumpy old men woke after a very long sleep and neither liked the world waiting for them, never mind that they each had a part in shaping it to its current form. Rather than find a place within it and move forward, they prefer to act like spoiled, angry toddlers and lash out even if it means destroying everything. Marvelous,” he sneered. “Why did this _Soul_ - _less_ not let the Qunari plan go forward? It seems to me that the more chaos the easier it would be for him.”

“Yes, I was wondering the same,” Anora coolly added, her quick mind racing through different possibilities. “When Zevran discovered the barrels of gaatlok we knew it wasn’t the Inquisition; that made no sense. We’ve been focusing our inquiries on those either with a more personal axe to grind against us or against Ferelden. Now that we know the palace in Denerim was only one target among many in southern Thedas, I can only be grateful Corypheus didn’t do the same. The Inquisitor would most likely not have been able to stop him, not without the support she received from different nations.”

Rainier nodded, “Aye, I believe Leliana said as much. I don’t know if it would be easier for Solas or not, but Solas doesn’t like the Qunari. He told the Inquisitor he didn’t want us to suffer our last years under the Qun.”

“Should we send him a thank you note?” Blake said sarcastically. Alistair couldn’t help the quick grin flashing across his face. Anora sighed at the two of them.

“Will not tearing down the Veil he created also release the elven magisters, the same ones he wished to imprison?” Jannasilane frowned.

“He said he has a plan.”

Zevran snorted, “Like he planned on Corypheus dying when he opened the orb? _I_ am a master planner in comparison. He would have been much smarter to wait until he regained his strength and open it himself. Instead, he is impatient and doesn’t bother to think that a powerful magister, one the Grey Wardens could not kill, one who lived for over a thousand years, might have a trick or two up his robe.”

Alistair shook his head, “For that matter, can the world even go back to what it was? Hasn’t the Fade also changed over these many centuries? Do any spirits, not tied to a place like Arlathan, even remember what it was like before? I would think the spirit world has developed its own rules or structure.”

“We can speculate all we like, but speculations and what-ifs will get us nowhere. The fortunate thing is we have warning and can make our own plans. Do you know what Lady Bragaara is going to do?”

Rainier shook his head, “I’m not in her Inner Circle. She was pretty disgusted when she left Halamshiral. She’s not going to roll over and let Solas have his way, not if she can help it, this much I do know.”

“It’s just as well,” Blake said slowly. “Solas needs time. Maybe he wants to save the elves, give them back everything they don’t know they lost in addition to what they only suspect, but he’s going to have to convince them. He also needs to get them to some place safe. I think we need to make it harder for him; some of the . . . angrier Dalish, the ones who attack any humans on sight, are probably going to follow his call without any great persuasion. Varric told us that in Kirkwall many elves joined the Qun because they were so badly treated. I suspect any Alienages with similar or worse experiences will more quickly leap at the opportunity for a better life, the unknown being preferable to the known. Not all, but I think we can count on most. It may be a tossup whether they join Solas or the Qun.”

“They won’t join Solas when they realize their own children will die,” Jannasilane thought of Fiona and Soris.

“Some will, even so,” Blake thought of Zathrian’s daughter.

“We must speak with Bann Shianni as soon as possible. It is better she hears from us what we know of this Solas’ plans. I don’t know what she’ll decide to do, but she needs to prepare for the eventual anger when more people know of the threat against them,” Anora spoke decisively.

“It’s a good thing the Hahren is part of my personal cabinet of advisors,” Blake smirked at his wife. When they were first married, it was one of their arguments. She said he would alienate some of the Banns, which he did, for a while. He said if they wanted the elves to be successful, they needed a conduit for gaining the necessary knowledge without seeming to be coddled.

Anora just smiled sweetly, “Yes, it is. Perhaps you could suggest to Hahren Targel that he come earlier, before Teagan returns, and bring Shianni and Valendrian with him. They don’t usually accompany him, but it’s not uncommon. I suggest you include Warden Rainier in the meeting, if that is acceptable to you both, Alistair. I’m sure that they, especially Valendrian, would like to question the Warden directly about the historical facts the Inquisitor uncovered.”

“Makes sense. Do you mind, Thom?” Alistair asked.

“At least I’ll feel like I’m helping,” the older man admitted with a small smile.

“I better go back to Ostagar. Solas probably already has spies there, but I don’t want Keeper Lanaya to think we’re keeping important information from her either. Even if she’s skeptical, she’ll appreciate the courtesy,” the Warden-Commander sighed. He hated thinking of all this political type stuff.

Jannasilane spoke, “I shall go with you, my Ali, so we can arrive with all speed.”

He frowned, “Do you think that’s wise, my love?”

She got up and paced the room before standing in front of him, hands on her hips, “He already has a spy network. We all agree that we should talk to the elves sooner rather than later. I do not know if he knows about me, he was not with the Inquisitor when she went to face Corypheus at Haven. He was helping guide people out of the Chantry and through the mountain path,” she frowned thoughtfully and looked at Rainier for corroboration.

“Aye, lass, and later, even the soldiers who survived spoke only about the Inquisitor cheating death at the monster’s hands again. Those that saw anything . . . most didn’t realize it was you harrying the dragon. Solas, he kept pretty much to himself at Skyhold. He might have been able to hear the rumors and gossips going around, but I don’t think any of it was about you.”

“I worry,” her warrior admitted. “Every time you shift increases the chance of . . .”

Janna stopped him with a finger on his lips, “I know. I love you, my Ali; this is truth. Weisshaupt is much less powerful than ten years ago; this is also truth. Now, now this _Solas,_ ” her voice dripped with disdain, “threatens everything. We may not be able to do much, but I think perhaps he needs to be reminded that there are many things he does **not** know, the stupid ** &^%#%)(&*#.”

“Gracie!” Rainier was astonished and appalled, he knew exactly what she said. Anora blinked, she spoke Orlesian fluently, but at a diplomatic level. She did recognize the tone and the intent. Alistair shook his head, he remembered the last time she used that language. Blake looked at her as if she’d grown a second head.

Zevran laughed, “Ah, Reynita, or should I say Miffed Muffin? This ancient and foolish elf does not understand the wrath of the Pocket Goddess.”

* * *

[1] The alienage tree and references to the past, present, and future. Not intended as a literal translation.


	155. The Passing Years

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A Chat in the Garden ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 “I’ve been a Grey Warden for seventeen years,” Alistair mused. He watched his wife carefully pull out weeds that dared invade her garden; his eyes traveled her rounded curves, a little more abundant but delightful as ever. He really was the luckiest of men. 9:47 Dragon was just around the corner and so far there were no indications of any new disasters. Just over a year prior, the majority of elves left their homes and disappeared, fewer from Denerim, Ostagar, and Highever. Nobody knew where they went, but most leaders didn’t fool themselves into complacency.

Jannasilane carefully put her tools down on top of the weeds in her small wheelbarrow. She wasn’t taking any chances that the interlopers might escape on a small breeze. His warm gaze stayed on her as she approached him, her warrior, still the handsomest man she knew. His frame was a little thicker, no doubt due to his fondness for Orana’s cinnamon buns, his broad shoulders a bit more settled with the weight of the years, but still strong, still steady. When he looked at her, as he was now, his eyes were as bright and keen as the young warden she met on the road to Lothering. She was a lucky woman and she’d face down an army if one threatened him, “Do you ever regret it, my Ali? Or that we could have no more children?” Kiera-Anne’s birth was a difficult one; Brody surmised that the red lyrium might be the cause, that it damaged her in some way not apparent until her impatient younger daughter decided it was time to see the world.

“No, never,” Alistair shook his head for emphasis. “I have more than I ever knew I wanted, thanks to Duncan conscripting me. Sure, when I was scrubbing dishes instead of going into town with some of my fellow recruits, I pictured myself on a farm with a family and a gaggle of children, at least a dozen. It was an ideal, a dream. You are much better than any dream, Jannalove. To be honest, I’m actually kind of relieved that Kat’s the last. I know you don’t like thinking of it, but I’ll be lucky if I see her grown. Most Grey Wardens don’t reach the thirty-year mark. Blake’s lucky he got sick when he did.” It was true; Avernus determined, after a detailed examination the Warden didn’t like to talk about, that Blake was in a pre-Calling state when he contracted the fever. To the old, make that ancient, man’s surprise, the potions used to cure it actually stopped the progression of the Taint. He surmised that if Blake hadn’t been pre-Calling, he might not have suffered so much. “No, my love, I want at least the hope of seeing my children become adults. Strake came to my office earlier today. He wants me to put him through the Joining so he can be with Martelle.”

“But,” Janna tilted her head and frowned, “how does he know . . . Oghren is more observant and shrewder than people realize,” she answered her own question.

“Strake even more so,” Alistair pulled her onto his lap so she faced him, her knees on the arbor bench straddling his hips. He had some nonverbal plans for after they finished the discussion he started. “He’s been Martelle’s since she started walking. To be fair, so far she’s never looked at anybody else. I think she just assumed they were supposed to be together. If she weren’t Griffonsong Oghren would already be chuckling over our almost in-law status.”

“He loves his son very much,” she nodded slowly. “I know our Martelle is like me, but I have no idea how strong her Time of Becoming will be; this is truth. What did you tell Strake?”

Alistair toyed with her hair, “That they were both too young to make such major decisions when they had the luxury of time. I told him to talk to me again in two years if he still felt the same, and that becoming a Grey Warden was life changing and he needed to know it was the right choice for him, outside of any personal attachments. I already put a note on my calendar; I just know it will be two years to the day, probably to the minute. He’s not going to change his mind.”

“By then we’ll know more,” his wife rested her hands on the sides of his waist, reveling in the muscles she felt in spite of cheese and buns. She waited for the rest. 

“Do you remember that small house overlooking Redcliffe the first time we went there? It had a small garden and room for a cow and chickens?” he asked. When she nodded, blinking a bit in surprise, he continued, “I’ve saved most of the money I received for being Warden-Commander. The Arling pays for our family and personal expenses, including the house in Denerim. Because of that, my Commander’s portion is smaller than elsewhere, but still more than any of my lieutenants receive. I documented all this for my successors. My love, I don’t want to be Warden-Commander for the rest of my life. I have enough money so we can buy a small place like that one in Redcliffe and support you for the rest of your life.”

Janna stirred restlessly, “You show no signs of your Calling, my Ali,” she worried her bottom lip.

“No, I’m not feeling anything like that,” he assured her. “I don’t want to wait until I do before stepping down. That’s not a good idea, in my opinion. No, I’m going to start sending Saykor, Alan, and Zerla to the Landsmeets in my stead. It’s too bad about Dani; she would have made an excellent second.”

“Solas ruined that for her,” Janna sniffed. The Dalish elf would have been a perfect candidate, but putting an elf in such an important position at this time would have been bad for the Wardens. Fortunately, Dani realized this and was actually happy to be in charge of their Ostagar post instead. Alistair remembered, he’d been dreading telling her why he couldn’t promote her to a position she fully deserved.

_“Commander,” she responded cheerfully when Alistair explained why he was selecting the newer recruit, Zerla, in her stead, “I’ve seen the amount of paperwork Saykor and Alan do. I wondered, after Nate and Sigrun left for Gwaren, if I could do the job. It’s enough for me to know you have confidence in me. Zerla understands your politics more than I ever will; she might be a young Warden but her years as a merchant’s guild liaison give her a great deal of political experience. Solas is wrong, not about wanting to help elves, Creators know many of my people could use a champion of sorts, but going backwards isn’t the right answer.”_

_Alistair nodded, relieved she wasn’t upset, “I have no doubt you would do well. You’re intelligent, observant, and understand people. Unfortunately, many in the Bannorn will be very suspicious of an elf and won’t want to support a possible Solas agent. I can’t say I’d blame them, I mean, I wouldn’t want to give money to somebody who wants me and everybody I hold dear dead. Umm, I’m curious. You still say ‘Creators’, you don’t believe that Elgar’nan, Mythal and the rest were simply magisters? You don’t have to answer if I’m being intrusive,” he added._

_“Even they had to come from somewhere,” Dani shrugged. “Maybe the Creators aren’t who we thought they were, but I don’t see any reason not to believe they exist. Commander, I’ll do well for you in Ostagar. Since I’m Dalish, I know how they think and can probably spot any odd behavior more easily than somebody else. At least I won’t have nearly as much paperwork, that’s a blessing.”_

_“Can’t argue with that,” her Commander muttered, causing her to laugh._

“In three years, if I don’t have my Calling sooner, I want to step down. I’ll always be a Warden, but it’s time Ferelden as well as my Wardens get used to the idea that somebody else will be in charge. We can’t stay in Amaranthine, too many people will come to me instead; I just know it. But surely we can find someplace where I can serve as just another Warden, be available as an advisor if the new Arl-Commander wants me, and we can simply be us, a family.”

“You’ve been thinking of this a long time, my Ali,” Janna noted.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy with our life. I love being Arl-Commander, surprisingly enough, but,” he tilted his head forward so their brows touched, “but I won’t be sorry to hand it over to somebody else. Everybody here loves you, but I don’t want you and our children to have to depend on the goodwill of future Commanders. I also don’t want to spend my last years doing paperwork, even if it’s selfish.”

“You are the least selfish man I know,” she scolded him.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m feeling pretty selfish at the moment,” he answered. He kissed her, his hands busy under her skirt as he began to implement his nonverbal plans.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Changes ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Be happy, my daughter,” Jannasilane brushed back a strand of Martelle’s hair. “Strake is a good man and loves you very much. Your father and I are thrilled for you, but I’m going to miss you more than I can say; this is truth.” She was helping Martelle out of her wedding dress; it gave mother and daughter a chance to be alone for a few minutes.

“Oh, Mother,” Martelle wrapped her arms around her, “I’m so happy and a little scared. He, he became a Grey Warden so he could be what I need. Felsi isn’t happy about that.”

Janna sighed. What her daughter said was true; Felsi wasn’t happy that her son was a Warden, especially since he was only twenty. “Felsi loves her son just as your father and I love you. She doesn’t understand, but she’ll come around. She likes you, she just needs to get used to the idea that her only child is a Grey Warden. She knows more than most about the Order and she worries. Mothers do that, you know. When I realized you were Griffonsong I worried you would be like me; thank the Maker, you are more like my mother,” she stepped back with a sniffle and a smile. “Now, let’s get you out of your beautiful gown and ready to leave with your Strake. I always knew you would have a pink wedding dress,” she teased.

“Of course,” Martelle laughed. The gown was the palest pink velvet and delicate lace that set off her dark coloring perfectly. Deep red and cream rosebuds dotted her hair. The Cousland sapphire and dangling matching earring were perfect accents.

“Mom,” Martelle grew serious, “are you and Dad really going to be okay? He’s not only stepping down as Arl-Commander, you’re leaving the Vigil. It’s going to be so strange to come back and find Zerla in Dad’s office. Lothering is a big change.”

Her mother laughed, “Your father and I went from fighting the Blight to building the Order and restoring an Arling. We love our lives and the people, but we are looking forward to a new chapter. The nice thing about Lothering is that it is close enough to our friends here and in Redcliffe, Highever, and Denerim. We will still be here for you whenever you need us, such as our first grandchild,” she said slyly. She laughed when her daughter blushed; it was such a nice change to cause someone else to turn pink. She mercifully changed the subject, “I admit I am eager to help with the farming study. It will be a nice challenge for me.”

“. . . yes, she is, however the bride is not the only beautiful woman in the room,” William twirled his partner around the ballroom floor. The young prince thought the maid of honor was quite striking in her darker pink dress with deep rose trim. “I think you look like a perfect new rose, will you black my eye again if I kiss you?” he whispered in her ear.

J-Lynn blushed prettily before answering with a small smile, “I think your eyes are safe, if you want to take advantage of a private corner.”

Blake was watching his son. He shook his head, “I hate it when you’re right. To be fair, I knew it long ago but didn’t want to admit it.”

“Admit what?” Nathaniel asked. He was pleased that finally the Cousland brothers separated him from his father, though he suspected a certain Mouse had a great deal to do with their acceptance.

Zevran laughed, “Look to the dance floor, oh stoic archer.”

The rogue quickly saw what he meant, “Ah. I suppose it’s natural to want your children to have an easy path. Maybe it’s merely infatuation?”

Blake shook his head, “Maybe when they were thirteen and he tried to kiss her, but they’ve known each other all their lives. I took him to the Pearl a few years ago. Anora wasn’t too happy, but I told her better there than the servants or worse. I remember what we were like,” he glanced sideways at his onetime and current friend who grinned back at him. “I don’t want him trapped into marriage because his partner was the daughter of a sufficiently high noble. No, it’s not infatuation.”

“Her Glorious Majesty was most intelligent in bringing young Mistress Guerrin into her court,” Zevran said. “The nobility are accustomed to her presence, and they know she’s a mage. It also helps that the extra measures put into place after the Venatori make the palace one of the most magic-proof places in Ferelden, if not Thedas. Perhaps, Your Wardesty, you should ask Alistair to train the young handsome prince in the templar arts, especially the cleansing of mana. It might help ease the fears of your more nervous nobles.”

“Hey, duster, let’s see if you remember your moves from your noble days,” Sigrun poked Nathaniel.

He bowed, “As my lady commands. Ah, Commander, I think a certain royal someone wants a word.”

“Oh?” Alistair joined them and raised his eyebrows. “I have a minute, my Janna’s with Martelle and I think Oghren is giving Strake some fatherly advice. I _really_ don’t want to know exactly what,” he shuddered.

Zevran purred, “I will be glad to give the young groom the benefit of my knowledge, perhaps even how to give a massage.”

Alistair glared, “Absolutely not!” His friends laughed at him and, when he finished laughing Blake explained what he wanted. The still current Arl-Commander agreed once he resettled.

“Are you sure you won’t regret giving up all this?” Blake looked around the Vigil, “It’s been your home for almost twenty years. The Order and the Arling are both doing well, thanks to your leadership.”

Alistair couldn’t help the look of pride at his friend’s words but he shook his head, “The paperwork? Holding court? The politics? No, not really. I’m proud of what Janna and I accomplished, and we’ll still come to Denerim regularly, but it will be nice to be normal citizens for a change. Well, normalish. I will miss my Martypants,” he thought a moment, “and Orana’s cinnamon buns.”

“Good thing Package isn’t here or she’d have something to say about equating your daughter with food,” Blake snickered.

Alistair flushed, “I’m going to see if Janna and Martelle need anything. Did I say I hate you?”

A few days later Alistair and Zerla were in the Warden-Commander’s office, “I think that’s it.” He reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out brandy and glasses, “There’s not much left, but it should be enough for a toast to new beginnings for both of us.”

“I won’t let you down, Commander,” Zerla said seriously.

“I know you won’t _Arl-Commander,”_ the templar replied with a smirk. “Saykor and Alan will be a great help. They’ve been excellent seconds, but felt, as did I, that for the sake of continuity you, as the youngest lieutenant, would be the best choice to take over. They’ll help you figure out who should take your place as the third lieutenant but the ultimate decision is yours.”

“Commander,” she corrected herself when he raised an eyebrow, “Alistair, Brody took over Avernus’ research, do you really think we should invest time and resources in this Taint treatment? I worry that we may lose too many Wardens.”

Alistair leaned forward and stared into his glass, “Sometimes I forget just how young you are in Warden years. Thirty years is pretty much the max you can hope for after your Joining. Most of us won’t reach that. Blake would have had his Calling by now if he hadn’t gotten sick where and when he did, and that was after what, only eleven or twelve years. Do you know why I try to attend every Joining?” He lifted his gaze and looked her in the eye.

Zerla shook her head and remained silent, she remembered how pleased she was when the Arl-Commander showed up for her Joining, even though they had already met.

“Every single recruit is making a huge commitment, to the Grey Wardens and to me. What you, they, are doing will change their lives beyond imagining, _if they survive the Joining._ The least I can do is show them respect by being there for them. I’m not saying you should do the same; it’s just how I feel. I won’t lie; it wears on me, sometimes more than others. When it does, I thank the Maker for my Janna because she understands. Spending time with her and our family helps me stay centered and makes me feel lighter. I’m not leaving her here for you,” she laughed, just as he intended, “but you should find something that can do the same for you.”

“I paint.”

Alistair blinked, “Really? I didn’t know that.”

The new Arl-Commander snorted, “I didn’t say I paint well.”

The outgoing Arl-Commander grinned at the distinction, “Point taken. Anyway, I kind of got off topic, didn’t I? What I’m trying to say is that from Joining to Calling, I’ve seen a lot of my Wardens die and the Order hasn’t been in Ferelden for close to thirty years. Strake is an exception but that’s one reason I prefer my recruits be at least 25 years old before undergoing the Joining. Avernus speculated, and Brody agrees, that if Blake had been into his Calling he probably would have died. Even a healthy Warden who undergoes the . . . I really don’t know what to call it, it doesn’t reverse the Taint, it just stops the progression and mutes some of the side effects . . . retirement plan, maybe, can die. My thought is to give Wardens who reach twenty years of service, the option. Tell them the truth, that it can be as dangerous as the Joining. If they survive, they can still be Wardens. Blake senses darkspawn as much as ever. He’s not as resistant to disease, though that may be because of the fever rather than what Avernus and Brody devised. Nate wants to try it out. He’d be happy to be a Warden for another dozen or twenty years. Sigrun is considering it. Thing is, because our Order is so young, we don’t have many people who can test it. We don’t even know if they’ll live much longer than the thirty, but at least it gives them a better chance.”

Zerla frowned thoughtfully, “Warden-Commander Dale is fairly progressive thinking, and she brought a lot of older Grey Wardens with her. Maybe I’ll talk to her to see if any of her people might be willing to test it out. They’ll have to transfer, we might have to do an exchange . . . but it could benefit both Orders, hmmm. You’re right; waiting until twenty years isn’t going to have much negative impact on our numbers even if they all choose to try the treatment.” She raised one eyebrow, “Are you thinking of it, Alistair?”

He hesitated and then shook his head, “No, at least not now. I am nowhere near my Calling and Janna would know. If I can wait at least five years, Kat will be twelve and, well. We’ll see.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nightmares in Lothering ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is it the same as before, my Lane?” Janna brushed her son’s sweaty, tangled hair away from his face. She came running when his nightmares woke them up. She wondered, she wondered very much.

The fourteen year-old was embarrassed his mother was there to soothe his nightmares away like a little kid but he was also grateful the monsters didn’t bother him when she was there. He sighed into his pillow away from her, “What is _wrong_ with me?”

“Nothing, we’ll talk in the morning. I’ll stay until you fall asleep, if you want,” she smiled when he just nodded but kept his head turned away.

“That’s the third night this month and they’re not getting any better, my Ali,” Janna was tired. She’d stayed up all night with Lane, making sure he slept. She did a lot of thinking while she watched over him.

Alistair pulled her down into his arms, “Relax, my love. Thanks to you he’s had more sleep than you have.” He stroked her hair, the white streaks wider than they used to be, _“Of course, I’ve got more than the odd grey hair myself.”_ He continued until all tension left her. “Well, we’ve been in Lothering for three years, so I think we can discount the move,” he kissed the top of her hair when she snickered slightly.

“So, we’re grandparents, courtesy of our Marvelous Martypants, gorgeous Griffonsong like her magnificent mother. Determined Duncan wants to go to Denerim and become a city guard; he always liked the city. Kick-ass Kat is a mage, I suppose that’s not much of a surprise considering my mother. You know, I think she’s actually looking forward to studying with other apprentices at the farm. There’s something almost, I dunno, poetic about Kieran and Kiera-Anne both being mages. Or do I mean symmetrical? Anyway, looks like Likeable Lane, the most sensitive of our children is one of the natural Wardens the Griffon Group was aiming for. Empathy might help make a good person, but I’m not sure it’s good for a Warden.”

“You do enjoy all your alliterations don’t you, my amazing Ali?” Janna smiled to herself when he huffed. “You have a great deal of empathy and are a good Warden. Our Lane will do fine,” she nodded against his chest.

“I better start meditation training with him,” Alistair sighed. “Do you think we should take him somewhere to see if he senses darkspawn, just to confirm our suspicions? There are places in the Korcari Wilds where their essence lingers, at least to my Grey Warden senses. Heck, even Kal’Hirol still reeks of them and the dwarves’ rebuilding is nothing short of amazing. I don’t want to put him in danger by actually going into the Deep Roads.”

“I think it will not hurt to test how much of a Warden he is at this point, this is truth,” she yawned.

Alistair kissed her, “That’s it, no more talking. You lie down, my love, and I will brush your hair until you fall asleep. We’ll talk to our son later.” Once she was out, he quietly put down the brush and wandered to the kitchen. DJ, almost as tall as his father and rapidly outgrowing youthful lankiness, was up and making breakfast, “You know, I’m going to miss this, somebody else cooking. Do you think you could teach Lane a few things before we go to Denerim?”

Duncan laughed, “My baby brother isn’t much better than you and Mom. If Zev or Aunt Lel hadn’t done most of the cooking you two would have suffered food poisoning for sure.” His father just shrugged and began eating. Duncan turned back to the pan, “I heard Lane again last night, and then Mom go in. What’s up, Dad? If you need me, I can hold off on staying with Uncle Eamon. You’re the best trainer I could have, and the templars at the Chantry are always willing to spar with me.”

“Have I told you how proud I am of you?” Alistair stopped eating and stared at his son. DJ’s unselfishness in light of his brother’s possible need made his heart swell with pride and love. “Your namesake, both of them, would be as well. We’ll still go to Denerim in a few weeks after I finish my next patrol through the area. Before I go, I’m going to start meditation training with your brother. While I’m gone, you can make sure he keeps it up. Your mother and I are hoping it will help him sleep.”

When Duncan Jerad turned around, he had a small, pleased smile on his face, “We’re the lucky ones, Dad.” He sat down with a plate piled almost as high as his father’s. He began eating. “Does it bother you, my wanting to be a city guard?” DJ didn’t look at his father when he asked the question.

The HoF shook his head emphatically, “Uh-uh, no way. How can I not be proud when you want to protect and help people? I remember when we first arrived in Denerim during the Blight then-Sergeant Kylon offered us coin to help him with a few things because he didn’t have enough qualified people at his disposal. It was kind of a dumping ground for younger sons and bastards like me, only they had little or no training at all and expected easy money. Kylon’s worked hard to change that. You’re too young for him now, but after training and working with Eamon’s men for two years, if you still want to be a city guard when you’re eighteen you will have our full support.”

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Duncan waited until his father motioned for him to continue, “Lothering is so different from Vigil’s Keep. Do you ever miss Amaranthine? Lothering is much quieter,” he said diplomatically.

“You mean boring?” Alistair’s eyes twinkled. DJ grinned back at him and shrugged, looking like a younger version of his father. “The first year was the hardest, partly because nobody really believed I was willing to give up power or they thought I could influence Zerla and kept ‘passing through’.”

“Bet she loved that,” DJ was old enough to appreciate the folly of their actions.

“I didn’t tell her. Some of them remember what it was like when Rendon Howe was in charge and wanted reassurance; I told them I had full confidence in her abilities or I wouldn’t have promoted her to second and I was sure they would have no problem forging appropriate relationships with her.”

“Appropriate?”

“Well, as defined by their actions, though I didn’t tell them that. If any try to get around her, she’ll deal with them ‘appropriately.’ Did I tell you she’s scary?” Alistair answered cheerfully. “Anyway, no, I don’t really miss Amaranthine. I like being just a neighbor and not the Arl-Commander. I remember one evening we walked home from the tavern . . . we could hear crickets, cows and sheep in the fields, people talking or arguing with each other as they headed to their own homes . . . it was so blessedly _normal_. Your mother enjoys working with the botanists studying the effects of the Blight, all her years gardening on top of growing up on a farm and searching the forests for different plants; she’s able to use that. I’m on patrol too much for us to have a farm or large place of our own, it just wouldn’t be practical. Lothering works for us. Besides, we’re in the middle of Ferelden, not so far that we can’t easily get away for a change. It was nice of Eamon to set aside a suite of rooms for us to use whenever we’re in the city, even if his cook doesn’t make cinnamon buns like Orana. To be honest, I think I’ll miss the house in Denerim more than the Vigil.”

Alistair frowned and toyed with his food, “Duncan,” he began slowly, “I want you to do me a favor.”

“Of course, Dad,” DJ tilted his head and waited.

“Your Uncle Eamon is getting up there in years. Keep an eye on him, will you? Politics may be his food and drink, but I know he’s feeling more stress with J-Lynn’s upcoming wedding to William. He, Blake, and Anora did a lot of maneuvering so this marriage could happen and many people aren’t happy that the only Prince is marrying a mage. I hope, for their sake, they don’t have a mage child, or if they do, they also have non-mage children. I think that’s the only thing that will ease everybody’s concerns and none of us will know for sure that they aren’t a mage until the child is twelve.”

“Luckily, Fergus and Mhairi have enough children to be backup heirs,” the younger warrior shrewdly noted.

“Ha, there is that, when did you get so smart?” Alistair grinned and finished eating.


	156. It is Time

“It’s time, my love,” Alistair stroked her hair as Janna snuggled against him in their bed, “people, other Wardens, are starting to wonder.”

“This is truth,” Jannasilane nuzzled the hair on his chest. They’d been together thirty years and she found him as sexy as ever. “I am coming with you; this is also truth.”

Alistair’s hand froze, “What about our children and grandchildren? You can’t leave them.” He tried once again to convince her to stay behind.

 She sat up and straddled him. “My Ali,” she glared at him in a most unloving manner, “Our children are grown and have their own lives, even Kiera-Anne. Will I miss them? Yes. We both know you do not yet experience your Calling; this is truth. It is most stupid for you to go to the Deep Roads on your last walk when it. Is. Not. Your. Time.” She said slowly and deliberately. “Brody and his team at Soldier’s Peak have theories but do not _know_ why you show no signs of your Calling. It is most likely something to do with Fiona; she did become an un-Warden, after all.” Her expression softened and she caressed the sides of his face, “I love you, my Ali. You are my friend, my husband, my heart, my always. Where you go, I go.”

“How did I get so lucky,” Alistair mused in wonder. “I love you, Janna, my heart, my always. We both know I can’t stay; I don’t want to risk bringing unwanted attention to our children, especially Martelle and Lane. I can think of worse things than going out fighting darkspawn. I certainly don’t want you in the Deep Roads with me.”

“I wish Leliana or Zevran were here,” she drew her brows together in thought. “They are most tricky and clever.”

“Well,” he rolled them over so he could look down into her beloved face, “I’m glad they’re not here at the moment. I have some other ideas.” He leaned his head down and kissed her breathless.

Several weeks later Alistair and Jannasilane returned to Amaranthine. “So it’s true,” Arl-Commander Zerla studied him from behind her desk. “You still don’t feel the Calling even though you didn’t take the Warden Treatment. I heard from Brody. He tells me your Wardenness is mature and is changing over time, but at a much slower rate compared to other members of the Grey. He speculates, but has no evidence, you will experience your Calling one day, but it could easily be years from now. I suggest you relax and enjoy the extra time, Commander, however much you have remaining. I am hereby releasing you from all active duties. You’ve done enough for the Order and for Ferelden.”

He blinked, “Huh, wow, that’s really not how I expected this meeting to go. I thought your devious merchant’s guild mind would have some sort of plan to fake my Calling or something.”

“I save my deviousness for when I need it,” Zerla replied with a voice dry as dust. “Travel, farm, do whatever you wish. I ask only that you report in person or via messenger every quarter, and have Brody’s team at Soldier’s Peak check you out regularly. You may have extra time, but when you do begin to experience symptoms he thinks you may deteriorate much more rapidly. Best to be prepared.” She hesitated a moment and then pulled a bottle out of the drawer where Alistair used to keep brandy. She poured some into two glasses and handed one to the now-retired Warden, “Careful, this is Guild whiskey. It was aged in Rockbinder barrels and has a little kick.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Alistair said sincerely and took a sip. “Huh, it’s a lot smoother than I would’ve expected. Is this one of your secret weapons?” he grinned at her.

Zerla smiled serenely, neither denying nor confirming his statement. “I’m sorry you missed Lane; he’s taking our latest recruits on a tour-patrol of Ferelden and all our posts. He has an extraordinary ability for helping them develop their Warden senses and unearthing hidden talents. I don’t think anyone suspects he never actually underwent the Joining. I’m not sure they’d believe it. He’s a natural leader and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s Commander one day; you should be proud.”

“I am,” he quietly replied. He finished his whiskey and grinned, “If there’s nothing else, Commander, I should go tell my Janna the news. She’s been worried.”

“Of course, good luck, Alistair.” She watched him leave then turned her attention back to her endless duties with a pleased smile. She respected him more than any man she ever met, and if anybody deserved a happy and, hopefully, lengthy retirement more she had yet to meet them. She understood his concerns about Weisshaupt but felt they were more negligible than he did; Weisshaupt seemed to have some concerns of its own and after the remaining Orders in southern Thedas declared their independence, they weren’t in a position to cause trouble. _“Letting it leak to other Commanders that Fiona was Alistair’s mother should buy him and Lane enough insulation, though I doubt he would approve. Even a mediocre spy should have sent that information to Weisshaupt years ago, stupid bastards. Doesn’t make much sense to pursue Alistair because of a singular circumstance, if they even care anymore. I didn’t lie to him about Lane, that young man has the capability to be as good and honorable a leader as his father in time. A couple more years experience and I’ll probably be promoting him to Constable, then we’ll see.”_

Alistair felt fate had granted him a reprieve, and moved with a lighter step to the dining hall to find his Janna. Nobody was there. He snagged some cinnamon buns and continued his search. He stood on the top step of the Vigil, looking around. The scene was similar to many he witnessed when he was Arl-Commander, but he was very conscious of the changes. _“Varel is gone. The courtyard seems quieter without Oghren around; he went to his Calling a few years ago. At least he got to see his grandson, I’m not sure who was prouder me, him, or Strake. Zeke didn’t survive the Treatment. Harami did and married Orana, finally. Carver survived, barely, and spends most of his time patrolling the Wending Wood. It’s a tossup as to whether he or Harami had the slowest courtship. After a few sporadic and cryptic notes, nobody ever heard from Hawke or Anders; what the hell happened in Weisshaupt? Of course, without the Treatment Anders surely went to his Calling by now. I don’t recognize some of the younger Wardens and soldiers; they’re looking at me and wondering; I see it in their eyes. Candira is a good seneschal, Varel trained her well.”_

He went down the steps and made his way into the garden, reminiscing. _“I’m glad to see the garden is still being used, though it seems to lack something. Maybe it misses my Janna’s touch, her care,”_ he thought whimsically. He sat down inside the gazebo, _“Somebody is using this. Maybe Zerla, it still has a feeling of calm and peace. I wonder if there’s any color left around the lanterns. Nope, not much,”_ he concluded after lowering them. He raised them back up and waited. He knew his Janna; she’d be here sooner or later. Alistair decided to use the time to think about their future, _“Future, what a wonderful word that is. Or should be; Solas hasn’t made his move . . . is it because he’s having a harder time preparing the elves who joined him for the ‘new world’ waiting for them? Where did he take them, anyway? Are they still in Thedas or in the Crossroads, I think that’s the right word? Does time work the same there? OK, Alistair, now you’re being silly, why wouldn’t it be the same? Then again, where magic is concerned, and since it’s so close to the Fade . . . Solas could have ‘all the time in the world,’ ha ha ha.”_

“You still have moves, Gracie,” Rainier accompanied her. “Those youngsters will feel sore for a few days. Good thing Alistair didn’t hear them baiting you or they’d be more than sore. I keep telling them not to judge skill by first appearances. How’s your leg?”

“Not too bad,” she replied. “When they saw the scars I could see they thought they saw weakness. My leg is weaker; this is truth. It is just not as weak as it looks like it should be,” she grinned.

Rainier laughed, “Used their assumptions against them, did you? Clever lass, but I remember you put a lot of time and effort into strengthening it. You are a bit rusty, though, you need to practice more.”

“My Ali is the only one who will spar with me,” she sighed. “Not one templar or guard in Lothering will agree to do so.”

“That’s because they think you are too cute and too motherly for them to raise arms against, even in practice; they don’t know about your mean streak,” Alistair lazily opened his eyes and watched them approach. “They also respect you a great deal.” He grinned, “Or maybe they’re worried they would get distracted by your ‘magnificent bosom’ and then get in trouble with their wives. You look quite fetching in your armor, my love.”

Rainier chuckled, “Daresay they didn’t want the Hero’s wrath upon them. I’m curious, why are there a number of templars in Lothering? After the war, there weren’t many left. I thought most of those that didn’t leave the Order stayed in the larger cities to guard the Chantry. Lothering is just a small town.”

“It’s barely that,” Alistair laughed. “I wondered the same thing. I think it goes back to the Blight; when we arrived after Ostagar, the place was flooded with refugees fleeing the darkspawn. The Bann and his men were already gone to follow Loghain, leaving only the Chantry and the templars to try and keep order. The people remembered that. The more ambitious templars and ones more focused on overseeing the mages transferred out as soon as they could. That left mostly moderate templars who just wanted to help the Revered Mother and Sisters help people. Even during the mage/templar war, the Lothering few tried to keep peace and didn’t go running around after mages, unless they were a direct threat. Funny thing, the mages studying the Blighted land requested some templars to work with them.”

“You’re kidding,” Thom couldn’t reconcile that statement with the mages he met with the Inquisition.

“Yep,” the younger warrior answered. “You’ve seen land corrupted by the Blight. Most people avoid it; you can’t grow anything on it or raise livestock. The mages studying it were worried about the affects of long term and constant exposure. Now that I think about it, that’s probably why Knight-Commander Greagoir refused to let them, the mages, establish a permanent base.” He thought for a moment, “I can’t say I’m sorry they won’t spar with my beautiful wife, I like seeing her without bruises.” Rainier chuckled and left them.

Jannasilane shook her head, “You are in a mood, my Ali. What did Arl-Commander Zerla suggest?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope. She says I am now retired and can do whatever I want. Well, mostly,” he relayed Brody’s theories as he brought her back under the gazebo roof and into his lap. She cuddled against him with a contented sigh. “We can keep our place in Lothering and travel, if we want. We talked about it in the past, but now we can visit those places.”

Jannasilane looked up at him, “You have some ideas, my Ali?”

He waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer, “Always around you, my dear. Oof,” he commented obligingly when she elbowed him. “You know J-Lynn is pregnant again with the third royal babe . . . I think she’s trying to beat the odds and ensure at least one won’t be a mage.”

“I think William had something to do with it,” she reminded him with a snicker.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” he twined some of her hair around his finger. “Anyway, some months after their grandchild is born, Blake and Anora plan a big diplomatic tour and William will be in charge as regent. He’s done it before, but not for such a long time. They’re going to various city-states in the Free Marches, then Antiva, Nevarra, and finally Orlais with a quick visit to Skyhold. Zev isn’t going to let them go to Antiva without him and Eamon will act as chief adviser to Willy. I think we can go with them, or behind them, definitely not as part of their entourage. And then . . .” he wasn’t sure how to broach the next part.

“And then . . . what?” Janna prompted him. “I like your plan very much, my Ali. Perhaps our Leli can join us for part of this journey.”

“The Arbor Wilds fascinate me,” Alistair admitted. “So much of it is unknown. I want to explore and then go down south into the uncharted territory. When, when my Calling comes, I don’t want to go to the Deep Roads. I want to return to the Korcari Wilds and Ostagar. Darkspawn seem to pop up pretty regularly; I think because there are so many marshes that it’s easy for them to dig to the surface. It’s impossible to block the holes in the Wilds permanently. It probably sounds foolish, but I want to die near where Duncan and Cailan fell.”

She caught her breath and let it out slowly. Several minutes later she spoke, “You are a romantic, my Ali. I will be most happy to explore with you; this is truth, a grand adventure we choose. If you wish to meet your Calling in the Korcari Wilds, I will help you. This I promise with my heart.” She burrowed deeper into his arms, not wanting to think about that day sometime in the future.

Her warrior continued to enjoy the woman in his arms. He kissed the top of her head, “We don’t belong here anymore, my love. I realized that when I came out of Zerla’s office.”

“No,” she answered. “It is a good place you created, but it is no longer ours except in memories.”

“ _We_ created,” he corrected her gently.

“Kiera-Anne is in love with Connor and I believe he is smitten as well,” Janna said apropos of nothing. Then she added, “She, more than any of the children, likes Lothering and can stay in the house. I’m sure Connor will be a constant guest.”

“What?” Alistair began spluttering, “He’s more than twice her age, old enough to be her father . . . you’re joking, right? How do you know? Maker!”

“She is no longer your little girl, my Ali; you have to realize she’s an adult woman. A young woman, this is truth, but grown.”

“Now you’re making me feel old,” he complained. “Really? Connor? Huh, I guess he takes after his father but . . . that’s a _big_ age difference. Did I say big? Make that huge, really, really huge. Maker!”


	157. Return to Ostagar

“Keeper!” Lanaya looked up to see the normally unflappable Larren rushing towards her site where she sat in front of her fire. “Keeper, something unusual is happening below the Tower of Ishal. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Larren rushed her words.

“Lend me your arm, Larren, I am not as young as I used to be,” Lanaya spoke quietly, her demeanor calming the younger elf. She reflected on the changes around her as they walked to the watching hunters. _“Fewer of us are here than before Corypheus and the Dread Wolf came, but more since a number returned from wherever Solas led them. Some are undoubtedly spies while the others prefer to look forward. It is still strange to me to see Dalish faces bare of any vallaslin, less strange to see it altered in order not to reflect the false Creators but honoring the traditions we forged without them. Foolish Wolf, he must be so lonely, eager to bring back a past only he remembers.”_

The elves moved aside so she could see and were surprised to see profound sadness fill her features. “Would you please ask the Grey Wardens to come join me?” Lanaya quietly asked. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, remembering. The elves around her maintained a respectful silence and held their curiosity close to them.

_"Is it fitting or ironic that I am done in by an ogre?”_ was Alistair’s last conscious thought. Jannasilane knew what she had to do and sang her battle song as loud as she could. While the darkspawn were insensible, she shifted and then clawed the ogre to shreds until she could grasp her warrior in her talons and fly away. Behind her, Kieran snared them into paralysis and set them aflame. He shifted into a small falcon and flew after her.

Jannasilane gently lay him down and, after making sure the immediate area was safe, hurried to strip branches from nearby trees and shrubs in order to make a soft nest. Carefully she moved him until he was as comfortable as possible and shifted back to her true form. Her hair was more white than autumn, but curled wildly as ever down her back and shoulders. “Forgive me, my Ali,” she whispered tearfully as she removed his helmet and gauntlets. She loosened his breastplate so he could breathe more easily; she could do no more. “We are on the field of Ostagar, as promised. Kieran will be here soon so he can say goodbye,” She lightly stroked his hair and face.

“I’m here, Janna-mother,” Kieran knelt down next to Alistair and across from her. An incredibly handsome man, combining the best of his parents with a grace and charm endowed by Urthemiel, or perhaps that was his alone; now he was preparing to mourn the man he admired to his soul. “Father, don’t try to talk. That ogre . . . well. I don’t know if I told you how much you mean to me and how glad I am that Mother allowed us to meet. Before then I admit I had a huge case of hero worship, but I like and admire the man I know a great deal more.” Kieran didn’t know if his father could hear him or not, but he felt better for speaking out.

Neither took note of the time passing while sitting in silence when Alistair began to stir restlessly. “Janna,” he hoarsely croaked.

“Yes, my Ali?” she asked anxiously.

“I want . . . to hold you . . . in my arms . . . one . . . more . . . time,” he spoke in short gasps. “Love . . . you. Always.”

“And I you, my Ali, always, this is truth,” Jannasilane whispered and settled herself so she could lay her head on his chest. Tears fell when he wrapped one arm around her to hold her as closely as he was able. They never stopped. She didn’t know if he heard her whisper, “Wait for me, my love.”

Alistair wasn’t done. “Kier . . . an,” he called and held out his other hand. When Kieran grabbed it, the warrior spoke for the last time, “proud of . . . you.” His eyes fluttered closed and his breathing soon became weaker before stopping completely.

The ululation that broke the silence sent shivers down the spines of the watching elves; it was so full of sorrow and loss. It didn’t seem possible that such a sound could come from the small woman on her knees beside the now dead Warden, even those who saw her shift. Kieran watched helplessly while she regained her composure. “K-Kieran,” Jannasilane stopped to clear her throat, “Kieran, in my pack, everything inside is for all our children. Please, make sure they each get delivered.”

“I don’t understand why don’t you . . .” he stopped speaking when she shook her head. He looked at her closely, struck by the resignation deep in her eyes.

“One thing you should know. Griffons don’t do well without their Wardens,” she smiled crookedly. “My Ali and I have been together a very long time. I’m not afraid to follow him; this is truth.”

“What about Martelle and the others?” he frowned. _“I don’t want you to go either,”_ he mentally urged her to stay.

She placed her hand on top of his, the one still grasping Alistair’s hand, “You are a good man and a good son. However, like your mother, you are not a healer.” She lay back down in her Ali’s arms and watched him absorb her words. She was tired, so very tired.

Kieran rushed around and saw the deep wound low on her back. “You used all your strength to bring Father here,” he quietly accused her.

“I promised.”

“What can I do?”

Weakly she pointed to where the Wardens stood next to Keeper Lanaya, “Because of the taint, our bodies must be burned. Let the Grey Wardens do so, they,” she stopped to catch her breath, “they should bear witness to the Arl-Commander. They also should return my Ali’s sword and shield to Vigil’s Keep. It’s what he wanted.” She closed her eyes.

“I believe you’re needed,” Lanaya said quietly to the two Wardens. They nodded sadly and made their way down to the field. She motioned to the watching elves they should leave, out of respect for those on the field. Only she and Larren remained to witness.

“Keeper,” Larren spoke very quietly, “who are they?”

“He is that rare thing, a truly good man. It was my great privilege to meet them during the Blight,” she smiled a little. “You’ve heard of them, the Hero of Ferelden and his lady.” Larren’s eyes widened and she gazed at the duo on the field with new respect.

Kieran quietly removed his father’s sword and shield for the Wardens, then sat beside his father and placed his hand over their clasped ones. He said nothing to the Wardens behind him, all his attention was on the two people in front of him.

Jannasilane opened her eyes once and looked at him, “I’m glad you’re here. You are one of our children, do not forget this. My Ali and I were happy you spent so much time exploring with us . . . your chosen path is a solitary one, like your mother’s, but it does not have to be a lonely one. Remember, your brothers and sisters care about you; this is truth. Don’t lose touch with them.”

“It will be as you say, Janna-Mother. I promise,” he whispered. She smiled and her eyes fluttered close. Minutes later, she breathed her last.

When the Grey Wardens lit the pyre, they stepped back and bowed. They watched solemnly until nothing remained but ashes. Later, one of them thought the smoke formed a Warden astride a griffon before dissipating in the cool breeze.

Kieran watched from the edge of the trees until only embers remained. “Goodbye, Father. Goodbye, Janna-Mother,” he said quietly, knowing their spirits could still hear him. For just a moment, he saw his father’s smile and felt his friendly grip on his shoulder and then nothing. He settled Jannasilane’s pack on his shoulders and started towards Lothering.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Bioware owns Dragon Age and its characters. I am happy to play with their world.


End file.
